IT’S FINALLY HERE, THE BIG LIST FOR OUR BELOVED KIM NAMJOON. I know, I know, it took me much longer than expected, but work was absolutely brutal this week and I only had time to update my main account, so reading was... well, complicated. Anyway! We’re finally here, and I can’t wait to tell you all about the fics I’ve been reading <3 I’m sure you’re going to love them.
One-shots:
SENTIENT by @trivia-yandere
-> Summary: You're gifted a high-technology android by an old friend who appears to know everything - even about you.
-> Review: When I tell you this fic left me speechless, I’m not joking. Part of it was my own fault because I didn’t read the warnings (don’t make that mistake, please read them lol), so getting to the ending was... woah. I had no words. It’s an android fic (oh yeah), and what really stood out to me was how the author describes Nam’s abilities. Most of the time, stories like this are told from reader’s perspective, so that side of things doesn’t get explored much, but here we get a much better understanding of how Nam functions as an android (like being able to see through walls or sense your heartbeat and body heat—I absolutely loved those details). To be honest, I was completely charmed by the first-half version of Nam before we ventured into... yandere territory (yes, it’s yandere—that was the part I accidentally skipped over lmao). That being said, it’s incredibly well written, the smut is on point, and the ending is perfect for the kind of story that slowly takes shape as it progresses. Perfect if you’re looking for something with halloween vibes.
WHAT'S YOUR MOTIVE? by @n9mgi
-> Summary: In the bustling scene of new york city in the early 2000s, a guarded girl who’s spent her life learning not to trust anyone, crosses paths with a rising underground rapper who’s used to getting everything he wants—until her.
-> Review: This fic is set in the early 2000s, and honestly, isn’t that reason enough to read it? Because it definitely was for me. Nam as an underground rapper just makes so much sense, and in that era... it’s simply perfect. The pacing of the story is incredible, the tension between the two characters is chef’s kiss, and the smut? I’m usually not that into dirty talk... but here it feels UGHHH, absolutely perfect.
DIMPLES by @milk-moonbunnies
-> Summary: The one where Namjoon is trying to show he's down bad for you
-> Review: OMG, GUYS, GUYS, THIS ONE?? I LOVE THIS ONE UGHH 😭 It’s so cute, so perfect, so soft. Popular Nam + plus-size reader? Absolute gold. On top of that, he’s so sweet and caring and ughh, I love him. This is the kind of comfort fic I’d curl up with on a cloudy afternoon when I’m feeling a little down and just want to escape into a character like Nam. You absolutely need to go read it. Trust me, you’re going to love it.
STREET THING by @/n9mgi
-> Summary: On the side of a sunburnt los angeles road, you with a broken down car meet a man you can't stop thinking about. he's older, composed, impossibly charming, and far too experienced to be looking at you the way he does. you're used to immature love that never knew how to hold you properly. but with him, everything is different.
-> Review: I think you’re starting to see a pattern here... BUT I CAN’T HELP IT. CHI KNOWS EXACTLY HOW TO WRITE A NAM FIC WITH SMUT (and she absolutely nails 2000s aus, which just so happens to be my ultimate weakness, so there was no way this wasn’t going to make the list). We’ve got an age gap, we’ve got dom!Joonie, and OBVIOUSLY we’ve got exquisite tension between the characters, because Chi really knows how to write chemistry and build anticipation between two people.
TRY AGAIN by @bangtanfancamp
-> Summary: Got guy trouble? Of course your best friend Namjoon is the perfect person to talk to about it. It just ... doesn’t go at all how you expect it to. Maybe that isn’t the worst thing though.
-> Review: If there’s one thing that always gets me, it’s slice-of-life fics. They’re sweet, they’re soft, they feel warm no matter what’s happening —whether it’s something good or something painful— and this one? This one is the perfect example of that. It’s a fic with smut (duh), but it still manages to feel gentle and comforting, and I think a lot of that comes from the fact that it has the best friends-to-lovers trope... and honestly, there’s nothing sweeter than that. It’s a little old (dude, I can’t believe 2021 was five years ago???), but it’s absolutely worth reading <3
BOTHERED by @lavienjin
-> Summary: Namjoon has tried so hard to bury his attraction for you, especially upon discovering that his youngest brother feels the same way. but you just had to make it difficult by showing up in a dress much too short and tight for your figure as you innocently beg for him to lend his body for practice.
-> Review: Imagining Nam as an architect was not on my bingo card for any year, but it was definitely something I needed to read. I have to admit, one of my favorite parts of this fic is the way Nam ‘struggles’ with his desire to be with oc because, oh! Surprise, his brother is completely smitten with her too... but of course, temptation and desire win out in the end lol. It’s a really good fic, and you should definitely give it a chance. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.
RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIME by @taevescence
-> Summary: Being a woman in the legal world had never been easy—especially not in a country like South Korea. That was why you had done everything in your power to achieve your goals; you sacrificed your personal life, your health, and even the love of your life just to reach the position you held today. At least, that was what you believed until you arrived at your best friend’s wedding and came face to face once again with the only person capable of unraveling every plan you had ever made.
-> Review: (Uhm, actually this is my fic (yes, I’m self-promoting, sue me), but since there’s no way I’d write a review of my own work, I’m bringing you my bestie @thunderg opinion on the fic <3) Ok so, this fic is a masterpiece like, how can Namu be that perfect??? I love how he is so caring and understanding with Reader even when she did broke a little his heart, and the fact that she recognized that her action were not right, chef kiss, we love a self aware queen. If you want some cute fic with a bit of angst, THIS IS IT (justice for Nam people, he needs more fics, he is a cutie) When my bestie wrote this i was like a literal teenager again, giggling like a dumbass, so yeah, long live for men who yearn!!!!!!
Series:
CODE : EPITAPH by @jungkoode
-> Summary: “you wish the name Kim Namjoon didn’t make bile rise up your throat so violently. especially when 100% matches have perfect sexual compatibility—and combat pheromones don’t quite care about hatred.”
-> Review: I think by this point it’s pretty obvious how much we love Kiki’s fics on this account, especially the fantasy/sci-fi ones. This one in particular is one of my favorites. There’s genuinely no one who writes them like her. The detail, the narration, the story itself... it’s such a shame it doesn’t have the popularity it deserves, because it’s genuinely a work of art <3
Okay so IDK what category this falls into 😭
It’s not exactly a fic… not really smut either.
It’s just a chaotic, unserious drabble that popped into my head after I randomly remembered that live where Joon was lowkey panicking about his new sofa 🤯 So yeah… don’t expect anything extra-ordinary, have a read just for fun.
Pairing: Joon x Sofa (I’m kidding… or maybe not 👀)
Actual pairing: Jungkook x Reader (and lots of chaos)
Warnings: Nothing much exactly [makeout, kissing]
Word Count: ~1.5k
[MASTERLIST]
You all were having a night out at Namjoon's apartment. The living room was a warzone of empty soju bottles, half-eaten ramyeon cups, Pizza boxes, and one very proud Namjoon standing in the middle of it all.
“Everyone, I repeat,” he announced for the tenth time that night, holding up one finger, “this is my new sofa. Italian leather. Breathable. It cost me three months of soul-searching. No one jumps on it. No one spills anything on it. If you even look at it wrong, I will cry. And I cry ugly.”
Hoseok cackled from the floor, already tipsy. “Namjoonah, you said the same thing about your limited-edition shoes and we all saw Taehyung now use them as slippers.”
“That was different. Those were shoes. This… this is emotional support furniture.”
You and the rest of the gang laughed, the night spiraling into loud jokes, horrible karaoke, and Jin dramatically pretending to propose to the sofa.
Being a mutual friend, ever since Namjoon introduced you to the group, Jungkook had been glued to your side for the past three months, kept finding excuses to lean closer.
“Want another drink?” he asked, voice low, eyes sparkling with that dangerous mischievous glint.
You raised an eyebrow. “You trying to get me drunk, JK?”
“Me? Never,” he grinned, dimples on full attack. “Just… making sure you’re hydrated.”
Namjoon side-eyed the two of you but said nothing.
He was too busy stress-fluffing the sofa cushions.
Hours later, the living room had mostly emptied out.
People had crashed in guest rooms, on air mattresses. Only you and Jungkook remained in the living room, sitting on the floor with your backs against the sacred sofa, controllers in hand.
The game glowed on the TV, but the tension between you two was louder than any explosion on screen.
Jungkook nudged your shoulder. “One more round?”
“You said that three rounds ago, Jungkook.”
“Yeah, but I’m winning now. Can’t leave while I’m winning.”
Namjoon shuffled out of his room in pajamas, hair sticking up. “You guys still going? It’s 4 a.m.”
Jungkook waved him off without looking away from the screen. “Go sleep, hyung. We’ll be quiet. Promise. Just two more games.”
Namjoon squinted suspiciously at the two of you, then at his pristine sofa. “Just don't jump on my sofa. I’m serious. I will know.”
You snorted. “What, did you put a security camera in the cushions?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, then disappeared down the hall, mumbling, “My precious sofa…”
The game music kept playing cheerfully in the background while the real match began.
“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” he said, voice dropping into that husky register that made your stomach flip.
“I was sitting two feet away from you the whole time.”
“Exactly. Two feet is too far.”
Alcohol and months of his relentless and annoyingly charming flirting finally won. Tipsy giggles turned into heated stares, which turned into Jungkook pulling you onto his lap right there on the floor.
Kisses started soft and playful, then quickly became deep, desperate, and messy.
Since you both were too much into the kissing and the hard floor was getting seriously uncomfortable against your knees and back, you somehow ended up on the sofa without either of you really registering the move.
It was all lips, hands, and zero awareness.
It was chaotic. Messy. Intense.
All teeth and tongue and wandering fingers. Jungkook tasted like strawberry soju and bad decisions.
“Fuck... wait, the sofa...” you gasped between kisses.
“He’ll never know,” Jungkook mumbled against your neck, already dragging you closer. “Just… one more minute.”
One minute became thirty very chaotic minutes.
Clothes rumpled. Hair destroyed.
One throw pillow sacrificed to the floor. A suspicious lipstick mark appeared on the armrest. Jungkook’s chain got tangled in your shirt's button. At one point you knocked over an empty bottle and it rolled under the sacred furniture with a loud clink.
“Shhh!” you hissed, laughing breathlessly. “Namjoon will murder us.”
“Let him. Worth it,” Jungkook grinned, pulling you back in.
Next morning.
Namjoon woke up at 8 a.m. sharp, ready to admire his new sofa in the daylight. He padded into the living room humming happily, only to freeze mid-step.
You and Jungkook were sprawled across the sofa like crime scene victims. Your head was on Jungkook’s chest. His arm was slung possessively around your waist.
One of your legs was tangled with his. The sofa cushions were tilted at unnatural angles. There was a faint red mark on the leather that looked suspiciously like a lipstick mark.
Namjoon’s soul left his body.
He stood there for ten full seconds in complete silence.
Then, “NO... My Sofa.”
Jungkook woke up first, blinking sleepily.
The second he saw Namjoon’s devastated face, he immediately switched into full baby mode. He sat up slowly, bottom lip jutting out in the most pitiful pout he could manage, big doe eyes on maximum power.
“Hyung…” he whined softly, voice still raspy from sleep and last night’s activities. “We both were a little tipsy… Forgive us now, c’mon…”
He even tilted his head cutely for extra effect.
You quickly sat up beside him, trying to smooth down your hair. “Yeah, Namjoon… it was an accident. Mostly cause we were drunk.”
Namjoon’s jaw dropped. “An accident? An accident is spilling juice. This—” he gestured wildly at the sofa, “—this is a whole intense makeout session on my precious sofa. There’s a lipstick mark!”
At that exact moment, the guest room doors started opening one by one.
Hoseok stumbled out first, yawning. “What’s with the screaming... oh.” His eyes landed on the sofa and he immediately started laughing. “Wait… did you two actually—”
Jin followed right behind, still half-asleep but instantly awake at the drama. “No way. Namjoon’s emotional support couch got defiled? This is better than my dramas.”
Taehyung and Jimin peeked out next, rubbing their eyes, then broke into giggles. “Jungkookie… you didn’t.”
Yoongi came last, looking like he wanted to go back to sleep forever. “Too loud. Why is everyone yelling about a couch?”
Namjoon spun around dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at you and Jungkook.
“It all went wrong the day I introduced these two to each other!” he cried, voice cracking with betrayal. “I said, ‘Hey guys, this is my friend Y/N, she’s cool.’ And what does Jungkook do? He starts flirting like his life depends on it! For months! And now look! My sofa is ruined! It’s traumatized! I'm traumatized.”
Jungkook’s pout deepened, looking even more like a scolded puppy. He tugged at the hem of his shirt and whined again, “Hyung, c’mon… we were tipsy. It just… happened. But nothing more than kissing, I promise. Don't worry... The sofa was really comfortable, though. Super supportive—”
“DO NOT compliment my sofa after you violated it!” Namjoon gagged.
Hoseok was now doubled over laughing, holding onto Jin’s shoulder. “Violated? Namjoon, you’re making it sound like a crime scene.”
“It is a crime scene!” Namjoon insisted, gesturing wildly. “Look at the cushions! They’re… deflated. Emotionally scarred. I’m going to have to apologize to it.”
You buried your face in your hands, mortified but trying not to laugh. “Namjoon, we’re really sorry...”
“Sorry doesn’t fix leather, Y/N!”
Taehyung, still grinning, walked over and poked the suspicious red mark on Jungkook's neck. “Is this a hickey? Wow, Y/n, you really went for it.”
“TAEHYUNG!” you and Jungkook shouted at the same time.
Jungkook kept pouting, scooting a little closer to you on the sofa as if seeking protection. “Hyung, forgive us… We’ll help you clean it. I’ll even pay for the cleaning. Just don’t be mad…”
Namjoon crossed his arms, looking between the two of you with so done look. “I trusted you. Both of you. And you repaid me by turning my new sofa into your personal makeout battlefield.”
Yoongi sighed from the corner, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’m making coffee. You kids are too chaotic for 8 a.m.”
Hoseok suddenly gasped. “Wait... does this mean they’re finally together? After all that flirting?”
Namjoon threw his hands up in defeat.
He looked at the couch one last time, voice full of sorrow mixed with reluctant affection. “I should’ve known… the moment I introduced you two, chaos was inevitable.”
He paused, letting out a long sigh before continuing, “But… I am happy for you both. Seriously.”
Then his expression turned serious as he pointed straight at Jungkook. “Jungkook, if you ever make her cry, it will be worse than you ruining my sofa. I mean it. I will personally destroy every limited edition sneaker you own.”
You couldn’t help but smile sheepishly as Jungkook sneaked his hand into yours behind the cushion, still pouting at Namjoon like a guilty baby.
Namjoon noticed and pointed again. “And stop holding hands on my traumatized sofa!”
The entire room erupted in laughter while Namjoon dramatically collapsed onto the floor in front of his beloved couch, whispering apologies to it like it was a wounded friend.
“Hyung, it’s just a sofa…” Jungkook mumbled, still pouting.
“IT’S NOT JUST A SOFA!” Namjoon wailed.
And just like that, the chaotic morning officially began.
title: halcyon days (m)
pairing: knj x reader(f)
rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; canon idol! au , age-gap au (reader is 26, namjoon is 31); idol & art enthusiast! namjoon x art curator!reader au
summary: halcyon days – described as a past period that was happy, peaceful, and prosperous, often viewed with nostalgia. this may be a story of such a time. you, an art curator grounded in these seoul gallery walls, meet RM, an idol of top group BTS, whose world moves to an entirely different rhythm. Two lives on diverging paths. But when those paths somehow cross in the arts, something unexpected begins. love that unfolds slowly, like brushstrokes on canvas, brief and fleeting.
note: this is part two of a one shot initially 34k words! happy birthday namjoon!
warnings: language, dialogue heavy, art talk, decision to leave movie spoilers, a lot of smut in many positions (explicit and anecdotal), drinking, smoking, posessive namjoon, protected s*x, cunn*lingus, finger*ng, blowj*b, b*ckshots, riding of course, sasaengs, grotesque harassment, heavy angst, some canon and noncanon events
drop date: September 11th, 2025, 8:00am pst
word count: 14.7k
part 1 | spotify fic playlist | crossposted on ao3 here
It’s been a week since the event. A week since Namjoon called you across a rooftop and took you home like he couldn’t wait another second. Since then, he’s been texting you every day–sometimes with a photo of his lunch, sometimes a tired selfie in the studio, sometimes just a “thinking of you.” It’s not excessive. It’s intentional. And it makes you smile every time.
He doesn’t have to do that since you understand his situation, but it’s cute to see him trying to make amends for his lack of communication just because he loves you… a lot.
You finally wrap up a major exhibition project at Kukje for Frieze Seoul, freeing up your schedule just enough to carve out a day for him. He’d invited you to the HYBE building–casually, but not carelessly–and now you stand across the street from the towering glass facade in Yongsan, adjusting your oversized blue oxford shirt over your white camisole and wide-legged jeans. Clean, understated. Not a fashion statement, not anonymous either. Just you.
You cross the street, dodging a cluster of girls and women loitering near the park next to the building, eyes glued to the entrance like something might emerge from its depths at any moment. Some hold cameras with telescopic lenses. A few glance your way with bored disinterest, but one–Korean, in her twenties…thirties maybe–squints her eyes at you, scanning you head to toe like she’s trying to figure something out about you.
You don’t linger. You don’t meet her stare. You’ve worked in public-facing industries long enough to know better than to provoke idle curiosity.
Inside, the lobby is sleek and expansive, echoing footsteps bouncing off polished floors. You approach the reception desk with a quiet confidence, pushing your ID across the counter.
“I’m here to visit RM… for an art concept discussion. For his next solo album,” you say, tone even.
The woman at the desk nods, typing something into the system. It’s not a total lie. You had discussed his next album–how he’s thinking about intimacy, isolation, and urban nature as themes–and you’d even thrown out a few visual references. Whether it becomes anything official is unknown. It might take some time to get that released too, as the priority right now for the next year or so is group projects. But it’s enough to get you a guest pass.
“4th floor, practice wing,” she says politely in Korean, sliding the laminated badge toward you.
You thank her and make your way to the elevator, scanning your pass to access the upper levels. The building feels clinical and high-tech, a strange fusion of corporate order and creative energy. The kind of place where you know legends are made behind closed doors.
You glance at your phone. A message from Namjoon:
[joonie 🐨] Already here? The members and I just took a practice break. Just walk in when you get here. Practice Room B.
Muted bass echoes faintly from down the corridor. You follow the sound past gray walls, training rooms, and framed abstract prints–some you recognize from Namjoon’s Instagram, likely pieces he personally curated–until you reach a matte black door labeled Practice Room B.
You gently push it open.
The room is dim but spacious, with high ceilings and black walls that absorb the light pouring from recessed LEDs along the upper trim. At the far end, the mirrored wall reflects a mix of movement and stillness–six men scattered across the glossy floor, catching their breath, sipping water, checking their phones.
Then, a seventh figure turns. Namjoon.
“There she is,” he says, voice warm as he walks toward you.
The others follow his gaze. Jungkook, seated on the floor with a water bottle in hand, perks up. Jimin’s eyes widen slightly before he grins. Hoseok leans back on his hands, eyebrows raised with interest. Yoongi stands by the sound system, watching quietly. Taehyung lounges near the mirrored wall, head tilted. Jin, by the door with a towel over his shoulder, is the first to speak.
“Oh! You brought someone?” he asks Namjoon, arching a playful brow. “And she’s not a delivery person?”
Namjoon chuckles. “Nope. She’s definitely not that.”
You try to smile, suddenly hyper-aware of the way seven of the most famous men in the world are watching you. Your palms feel clammy. You smooth them on your jeans.
“Hi,” you say, voice a little breathless. “Sorry to interrupt. It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm Y/N.”
“Wow, she’s pretty,” Jimin says outright, nudging Jungkook with a grin.
“Woah…” Jungkook says with awestruck as his big round eyes stare at you, ignoring Jimin’s nudge. He eyes you thoughtfully, like he’s trying to read your intentions in real-time. It definitely made you a bit more nervous.
The guys introduce themselves, even though they realize you probably already know them. Wouldn't be entirely wrong, but an intro is always nice.
Taehyung hums. “Very on-brand for you, hyung.” Namjoon chuckles lightly.
“I heard you two met at a museum?” Jungkook finally speaks more, tone musing, but there’s a weight behind the way he looks at you–analytical, not unfriendly. He’s been very nice, but he’s just cautious. Like he’s making sure you’re a good fit for someone he respects deeply. You’re sure the other members are the same.
Namjoon nods, then glances at you before turning back to the group.
“Well,” he says, slow but steady, “since you’re all already speculating…”
He reaches for your hand. You blink, surprised, but let him take it.
“I wanted you to meet her because she’s important to me,” he says. “We’re… seeing each other.”
Silence ripples through the room like a dropped pebble.
“Wow, Seriously?” Jin says first, eyes darting between the two of you.
Namjoon gives a quiet smile. “Yeah.”
Yoongi snorts lightly but it’s not unkind. “Damn. So you’re actually admitting it…after swerving some of our suspicions, huh?”
“I wasn’t trying to hide her,” Namjoon says. “Just wanted to be sure before I brought her into this part of my life.”
The vibe seems a bit tense, and kind of scary.
Taehyung is the first to move. He walks over and extends his hand to you, gaze softer than before.
“Welcome, noona,” he says with a small smile. “If hyung’s serious about you, then we are too.”
The noona honorific is a bit dramatic since you’re definitely younger than him, but you’ll ignore it for now.
Jimin cheers dramatically. “Our Namjoonie’s in love~”
Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Don’t start.”
“But really, we’re happy for you,” Hoseok says genuinely, grinning. “It’s good to see you glowing again, bro.”
Jungkook rises and walks closer, expression now more open. “I get it now,” he murmurs to Namjoon. Then to you, “You seem cool. And grounded! He needs that! Please protect our hyung from his clumsiness too.”
You start giggling, making Namjoon rolls his eyes. He’s not that clumsy anymore, he thinks.
Yoongi just nods in your direction. “Don’t break his heart too,” he says. “He acts tough but he’s not.”
“He’s literally a golden retriever.” Jin jokes, which makes everyone else break out laughing.
Your chest warms at the way the tension lifts, the way the group shifts from guarded to accepting.
Namjoon squeezes your hand. “Thanks, guys.”
As the moment relaxes into scattered banter and practice resumes in the background, he leans down toward you and whispers, “You okay?”
You smile, finally able to breathe. “Yeah. More than okay.”
You take a seat near the mirrored wall, legs crossed, trying not to look too stiff as the boys start gathering around again during their break.
“So, you’re from the US?” Jimin asks, plopping down across from you with a bottle of water pressed to his cheek.
“Yeah, California,” you say. “Grew up in San Francisco.”
“Ohhh~” Taehyung stretches the vowel out like it’s a fancy French wine. “We were staying in LA not too long ago for our song camp. But San Francisco… isn’t it foggy there?”
You laugh. “Most of the time, yeah.”
“Your Korean is really good,” Jungkook notes, now sitting next to Taehyung and leaning forward with curiosity. “Did you study formally, or…?”
You nod. “I started in college. But I think watching K-dramas without subtitles kind of helped. Eventually I did an exchange semester in Seoul and forced myself to keep improving. Still make mistakes though.”
“You sound almost fluent,” Jin chimes in, eyes narrowing. “So you’re either naturally good at languages or just really stubborn.”
You grin. “Little of both, maybe.”
Yoongi raises a brow. “What did you major in?”
“Art history,” you answer, then gesture to Namjoon with a small smile. “So you can probably see how we ended up crossing paths.”
“I knew it!” Hoseok says, pointing at you like he’s just won a bet. “You have that calm, gallery curator energy.”
“Really?” you blink.
He nods. “Like the kind of person who talks about color palettes and philosophical metaphors in front of a painting that somehow makes you cry.”
The whole room laughs.
They’re funny, you think, but also so much more grounded than people give them credit for. The conversation flows easily now–less like an interview, more like you're slowly being folded into something soft, warm, and loud.
Soon, Namjoon rejoins the circle briefly to grab a towel, cheeks slightly pink from exertion.
“Alright,” he says, “we should wrap this break. Back to rehearsal.”
You lean back against the wall as they move back into position and start running the choreo to one of their comeback album songs again–intense, intricate, exhausting. You watch as they slip into that hyper-focused mode, barely glancing at one another yet moving with perfect synchronicity. Each step is sharp, the momentum breathtaking. Even when sweat drips, even when someone stumbles and lets out a soft “fuck” under their breath, they keep going.
You feel a genuine awe bloom in your chest.
No wonder Namjoon gets so in his head sometimes. The pressure. The eyes. The standard. And still–there's joy here. And god, he looks so good right now. Hair damp, brows furrowed, shirt sticking to the curve of his back. You’re trying not to stare, but it’s impossible not to.
Eventually, Namjoon slows the track and wipes his face again, catching your eyes in the mirror’s reflection.
He walks over, breath still heavy. “I’m heading to the showers, then up to the studio,” he tells you quietly. “You should go ahead. The door’ll be open. There’s tea in the cabinet if you want to unwind.”
You nod. “You okay?”
He smiles softly. “Now I am.”
Then, with a shift in tone, he takes your hand. And before you can register it, he lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
It’s subtle. Gentle.
But loud enough.
“Oooohhh~” Jin sings from across the room, followed by a mock-gasp from Jimin.
Taehyung clutches his chest dramatically. “Ahhh! This is straight out of a sageuk drama.”
Namjoon groans as the teasing grows louder.
“What a big simp he’s being,” Yoongi mutters with a smirk.
Namjoon just shakes his head. “Y’all are ridiculous.”
You can’t help but laugh as you back toward the door.
“See you upstairs,” you say, feeling the echo of his lips still warm on your skin.
And as the door clicks shut behind you, you feel like you’re floating a little–lifted by more than just the elevator heading up sixteen floors.
Namjoon's studio is a quiet world of its own. Dim but cozy, filled with soft ambient lighting, it smells faintly of cedarwood, leather, and something herbal–like his favorite tea. Books line the shelves, stacked in uneven towers, and vinyls sit half-pulled from their sleeves near his record player. The sofa in the corner is slightly worn in, hugged by a warm throw blanket and a floor lamp that casts a gentle glow over your open book.
You sit curled up at one end, legs tucked under you as your eyes move over the page of 정확한 사랑의 실험 (The Exact Experiment of Love), a book Namjoon recommended a few days ago. It’s cerebral, thoughtful, and layered with questions you hadn’t asked yourself before: Is love really just action, or is it shaped by the stories we’ve been told? Can we even love someone without unknowingly copying what we’ve seen in movies?
You pause on a highlighted sentence near the bottom of the page:
“To love precisely is not to control–it is to witness, again and again, the evolution of a person, and still remain.”
It makes your heart beat a little harder.
The door to the studio opens quietly behind you.
Namjoon steps in, fresh out of the shower, his hair slightly damp and pushed back casually with his fingers. A black oversized shirt hangs loosely over his frame, tucked lazily into grey joggers. His skin glows under the warm studio lighting, and there's something disarming about seeing him like this–unpolished but impossibly grounded, exactly where he belongs.
“You’re reading it,” he says with a soft smile, toweling the back of his head as he approaches.
You nod, closing the book partway. “It’s making me think too much. In a good way.”
“That’s why I liked it.” He bends slightly, brushing his lips against your temple. “It doesn’t tell you how to love. Just… shows you all the messy ways we try.”
You hum, the corner of your lips tugging up.
He walks over to his desk setup and taps the screen to life–colorful audio waveforms lighting up. He scrolls through a few files, then glances over his shoulder at you, a hint of shyness in his voice.
“Come sit with me. On my lap,” he adds, eyes flicking up to yours, more boyish now. “Wanna work through a few things, and I want your feedback.”
You raise a brow, playfully skeptical. “You sure I won’t distract you?”
He scoffs under his breath, but he’s already holding out his hand for you. “You will. But I’m willing to take that risk.”
You laugh softly and set the book aside, making your way over. He pulls you gently onto his lap, one arm looping around your waist securely while the other hovers over the keyboard. His thighs are solid beneath you, his body warm against your back. He rests his chin on your shoulder for a moment, exhaling like this is exactly what he needed.
“I’ve been working on something for the new project,” he murmurs, fingers dragging a few files into the DAW. “Nothing final, just similar to sketches.”
Namjoon queues up a rough sketch for his new project, melancholy piano layered over soft percussion, his voice low and raw, like it was recorded in a single breath. You sit still, letting it wash over you. The lyrics speak of wanting to be seen fully, even while uncertain of how you're perceived. When it ends, you tell him it feels honest, vulnerable without begging to be understood. He smiles against your shoulder, murmuring that you always say what he can't.
His hand, still wrapped around your waist, slips under the hem of your shirt–resting against the skin of your stomach, thumb moving slowly in gentle strokes. Not sexual, just grounding. Intimate. Safe.
“I like having you here,” he says quietly.
“I like being here,” you reply.
You glance over at the book still open on the sofa. Another line you'd focused on earlier comes back to you:
“To be precisely loved is to not need translation.”
Namjoon doesn’t say it out loud. But in the way he holds you, listens to you, lets you into his world–even when it’s fragile–you know. He’s learning how to love precisely. And he’s letting you do the same.
After spending a few warm, quiet hours at HYBE, you finally decide it’s time to leave and head home. As much as you’d love to stay wrapped in Namjoon’s presence a little longer, you’ve got work to do. Kukje Gallery is preparing for several seasonal showcases, and one of the projects you’re spearheading involves incorporating private collection pieces into a curated exhibition. Namjoon’s collection has come up more than once in your research, and the idea of showcasing select works–perhaps ones he’s lent anonymously in the past–feels like the perfect creative bridge between your world and his. There are meetings to prepare for, wall texts to draft, and provenance documents to organize. It’s the kind of work that consumes you quietly, the way art always has.
Aside from that, Namjoon and his whole group are very locked in to their comeback preparations. You haven’t talked about it much, but they have a ton of big promotions planned for their long awaited return. A whole comeback live performance hosted by Netflix, all the billboard and big screen promos happening too and the entirety of Seoul is going full purple in events and city lighting as part of the promo. So yes, a little space to let them do their thing is also very necessary.
As you step out of the HYBE building and into the quiet darkening orange of the late afternoon, you spot a remaining group of loitering girls you saw earlier. There’s five or six girls huddled near the edge of the lot, dressed in head-to-toe black–bucket hats pulled low, black face masks hiding most of their faces, save for the eyes. They say nothing at first. But you can feel their stares.
You lower your gaze and keep walking, heart steady. You’re not new to this. You’ve read the posts, the cautionary threads online. You know exactly what this group is. Sasaengs. And attention–literally any attention–is the one thing they don’t deserve.
One of them steps forward.
“I know you…” she says softly in Korean.
You pretend not to hear her. Keep walking.
“You were at the Frieze Seoul afterparty,” she continues, just a touch louder now. “With Namjoon.”
You stop. Just for a second. It's involuntary. You should’ve kept walking. Why did you stop?
Her voice sharpens. “I knew it was you! L/N F/N, you’re a big foreign art curator living in Seoul.”
Oh, holy shit… they know you.
You turn your head slightly, jaw tense. Don’t respond. Keep your mouth shut. She doesn’t get to provoke you. But she already has.
"But why are you at the HYBE building?"
Her tone is full of false innocence, the kind that masks something far uglier beneath.
You inhale deeply through your nose, your fingers curling tightly inside your coat sleeves. Let’s semi-lie about this. It’s the only way you can hope to get them off your back.
“I’m collaborating with HYBE’s visual concept team on a project,” you say coolly, refusing to look her in the eye. “It’s internal. That’s all I can say. Please enjoy BTS’ comeback that’s releasing soon.”
You turn to leave. They shouldn’t be able to ask more from you right. Let’s leave it at that.
Another voice calls after you–another girl from the group. “I don’t believe that.”
You bite the inside of your cheek.
“I saw you both that night,” the first girl adds, stepping in closer. “You and Namjoon. At the rooftop. Talking to each other like no one could see you. But I did.”
You clench your jaw. How did those people get into that event. It’s incredibly exclusive.
“Are you seriously going to pretend that you’re here for work and that something else isn’t going on?” a third girl snaps. “That dress you wore? The way he looked at you at the event?”
They’re circling now. You can feel it. Like you’re prey being slowly surrounded.
“Don’t tell me you're dating,” someone scoffs. “Wow, that’s actually so funny!”
You glance up. That girl looks like she’s smirking from underneath her mask. Another one has pulled out her phone. Your stomach flips.
“I mean, come on,” the first one says. “You really think someone like you should date someone like him? Don’t you know idols are for fans’ only. They should never be with anyone.”
Disgusted. Is this what some fans genuinely think about BTS? Never had you heard of things like this back in the states. Excluding Jungkook who’s the one left in his late 20s, BTS are in their early 30s… it’d be insane to even think that they wouldn’t be able to do things that people normally do at that age. Sex, dating, marriage, smoking, getting drunk. They aren’t allowed to be like everyone else according to them.
Another girl steps forward, her voice venomous beneath her mask. “You better stay the fuck away from Namjoon oppa and the other members. Seriously.”
“Imagine what would happen if everyone found out! You’re going to ruin the group if you continue to lurk around him, you disgusting witch!”
That’s it.
You stop walking and turn on your heel.
“What’s disgusting,” you say in a low, steady voice, “is stalking people and creating fantasies about strangers. You don’t know me. You don’t know him. And twisting facts to fit your delusions? That’s not fan behavior. That’s dangerous. You could get sued.”
There’s a silence. Even their breathing seems to stop.
“And since you clearly care so much about Namjoon’s image,” you add, “maybe you should brush up on South Korean defamation laws. False rumors, public harassment? That’s enough to ruin your own future.”
The lead girl shifts on her feet. You meet her eyes through the shadow of her cap.
You hold the silence just long enough, then turn around and walk away.
The burn in your chest doesn’t fade for blocks. You can’t tell if it’s adrenaline or fear or rage. Maybe all of it.
But you know now that something has shifted. They know you. They saw you. They’re watching.
And this isn’t the last time you’ll see one of their faces.
Another cycle of jam-packed schedules has Namjoon and the rest of BTS deeply immersed in preparations for a new group album and the upcoming world tour. You’ve kept your distance, careful not to distract him. You know how much it matters to him–this comeback, this tour after so many years. But that hasn’t stopped the two of you from keeping in touch. Your KakaoTalk thread is filled with sweet check-ins, candid selfies, and late-night voice calls just to hear each other breathe. On the rare nights when stars aligned, you found yourself either curled up in his arms at his place or sitting side-by-side at a tiny pojangmacha stall, downing soju shots and sharing plates of anju under the flicker of fluorescent lights.
Despite many chances you were with Namjoon, you never told him what happened that day at HYBE.
You didn’t want to burden him. Not when things were already so heavy. Years of experience navigating life in crowded cities–and even more chaotic industries–have taught you how to handle people like that. Unstable. Entitled. You chalked it up to nothing more than noise. Besides, you hadn’t seen them since that day… until now.
It started normally enough. You were at work, deep in conversation with a pair of museum partners collaborating on the upcoming exhibition featuring Namjoon’s collection. You were focused, flipping through condition reports and finalizing acquisition notes when Jiwon came rushing over.
“Y/N, there's a food delivery for you at reception.”
Your brow furrows. “What? I didn’t order anything.”
Jiwon shrugs, handing you the bag. “Maybe one of the artists or museum reps you’ve worked with before? A thank-you gift, maybe?”
That’s plausible. But something in your gut stirs differently. You want to believe it’s a kind gesture, maybe even from Namjoon. He has surprised you with a few meals before, knowing how often you forget to eat when you’re working. And he did ask if you ate earlier, to which you said, you hadn’t.
You shake off the unease and follow her to the front reception desk.
A brown paper bag sits there, neat and unmarked, folded closed with a tidy knot of string. There’s no logo, no note, no receipt. You hesitate for a beat before untying it and pulling out the food container inside. The wrapping is elegant, too elegant. It looks... staged.
Your pulse stutters.
Still, you open it.
The stench hits you like a slap.
Putrid. Sour. Rancid. Your hands fumble, and the container crashes against the desk with a grotesque splatter. You stagger back as your throat convulses.
You shake and try not to gag from the horrible smell.
“Y/N?! What’s wrong?!” Jiwon’s voice rises in panic as she and several staff members rush to you.
Your eyes are locked on the grotesque contents: a mess of maggot-infested kimchi fried rice and spoiled meat, decayed and slathered in something dark. And then you see it.
Written in thick, blood-red gochujang across the inner lid–
“꺼져.”
Leave.
Your throat clenches. A ringing in your ears drowns out the voices around you. You blink, trying to make sense of it. Trying to understand how someone could be this insane.
Your hands shake, your breath ragged.
This time… this time it wasn't just some girl with a petty glare outside a building. This was a message.
A threat.
And someone knew exactly where to send it.
The staff crowds around you, horrified, their voices overlapping.
“Was this delivered by mistake?” Jiwon said.
“Could it be an artist upset over not being selected for the next show?” Another staff inquired.
“Maybe a horrible prank? Some people get off on shocking others.” Another staff followed.
You nod silently, eyes wide, face pale. You mumble something about it probably being a disturbed museumgoer. A coincidence. A sick joke. You’re convincing them, but not yourself.
Because deep down, you know.
Behind closed doors, they don’t know you’ve been fucking one of the museum’s most high-profile donors. They don’t know that you’ve spent nights tangled in the sheets with that same man who’s known to millions by three letters: RM of BTS. They don’t know his sasaengs have caught wind of something they were never supposed to see.
You excuse yourself before they can press further.
Shoving the food into the bag, you step quickly out of the gallery into the humid afternoon. The alley where the compost bins are kept is tucked just off the main road. You kneel and lift the lid, trying not to gag at the stench now leaking through the bag. You throw it in.
But something flutters.
A soft rustling sound.
You glance down.
A small notecard flutters to the ground. It must’ve been taped to the bottom of the bag. You reach down with trembling fingers and turn it over.
You wish you hadn’t.
Pasted dead center is a butterfly–its body intact, but its wings torn off and glued on either side like some grotesque collage. The symbolism makes your stomach turn. The wings–ripped from something delicate and beautiful–feel personal. Like a threat wrapped in mock poetry.
Scrawled across the card in thick, black Korean script:
“We warned you once. But you didn’t listen.”
“He doesn't need a witch like you. He only needs us.”
“Things will get worse. For you. And for him. If this arrangement doesn’t end.”
Your throat tightens. The corners of the card are stained, a waxy red smudged across the bottom. Blood? Paint? Sauce?
You don’t care.
Your first instinct is to rip it apart, throw it away, pretend it never existed.
But your fingers won’t move.
Because now, it’s not just about you.
It’s about Namjoon.
And if they’re threatening him, even indirectly…
Your heart races as you fold the note and slip it into your bag. You take one final glance over your shoulder, then rush back inside the building with your face composed, your steps steady.
But inside, you're spiraling.
And whether Namjoon knows it yet or not, this just became his problem too.
A week after the incident at the gallery, things start escalating.
You first notice her, a woman in a black cap, standing across the street from your building. At first, you think it's a coincidence. Maybe she's just waiting for a ride. But then she shows up again. And again. Sometimes she’s standing completely still for hours. Sometimes she pretends to scroll on her phone. Always watching. You try not to let it get to you, but the weight of her gaze burrows into your spine.
Then the flowers arrive.
Seven funeral wreaths are delivered to the gallery one morning. They’re massive, overbearing, and reek of rotting lilies. There’s no sender listed, no note. Just ribbon banners draped across each one like death sentences: Quit your job, Leave the country, You’re ruining his life, Burn the witch. Your coworkers stare. The gallery director demands answers you can’t give. You lie, continue to say it must be a mistake, a weird prank, but your stomach twists into knots the entire day.
The knocks start next.
Loud, angry banging on your apartment door. Always after midnight. Always followed by silence. You rush to the peephole each time, heart in your throat, but no one’s ever there. The building’s security cameras catch only a blurry figure disappearing down the stairwell. This happens eight times.
Then, the messages.
A DM from a burner account lands in your inbox. It’s a grainy photo of you and Namjoon entering Nine One Hannam late at night. The message that follows it.
If you two don’t break up, we won’t hesitate to sell this to the media and expose you both. Ultimately, ruining your relationship and the group.
Your sleep suffers. You keep the lights on now, even during naps. You check the locks twice, sometimes three times. You change your commute. You stop sharing your location with friends. You start looking over your shoulder every time you walk outside.
And through it all, one thought loops in your mind like static:
How much worse could this get?And what would it cost to make it stop?
Would it mean giving him up?
You don’t want to answer that.
Not yet.
Another week passes after that, and you're at his place again, sitting upright at the dining table with your laptop open and a half-drunk cup of barley tea beside you. The glow from the screen casts tired shadows beneath your eyes. You’re finalizing the last details for the exhibition, confirming wall labels, editing the press release one last time, and reviewing the VIP guest list that Kukje’s comms team needs from you tonight.
Namjoon’s private collection–his pride, his soul laid bare–is about to be unveiled to the public for the first time. And you’ve done everything to make sure it’s perfect. Because you love him. Because you believe in the message behind his collection. Because he once said, “I want art to feel less like a velvet rope, more like a door someone left cracked open.” That stuck with you. You’ve carried that quote like a mantra, letting it guide every decision. Every label. Every image selection.
But God, you’re so tired.
Your shoulders ache. Your eyes burn. The harassment hasn’t stopped–it’s evolved. You still see the woman sometimes, posted by the bus stop outside your building like she belongs there. You’ve stopped answering unknown DMs. Your inbox is full of spam, and lately you've started receiving calls from international numbers you don’t recognize. Last night someone knocked on your window. You live on the third floor.
You haven’t told Namjoon about that either. What good would it do?
You keep telling yourself it’s manageable. You can push through it. You’re almost there. A few more days, maybe a week more of this chaos, and then it’ll settle down. The show will open. The gallery will shift their attention to the crowd. Maybe then you’ll disappear from focus. Maybe they'll get bored.
The front door clicks open.
You look up as Namjoon steps in, phone in hand, dressed in a black hoodie and cargo pants. He toes off his shoes, hangs up his keys, sets his phone facedown. His expression is unreadable–tired, maybe. You don’t ask. You’re not sure you want to know what kind of day he’s had. Something about his silence makes your stomach tighten, like you’re both pretending not to be burnt out for the other’s sake.
He approaches quietly, rounding the couch.
“Hey baby,” he says softly, hands reaching out for your shoulders.
You flinch–just for a second–but then exhale when you realize it’s him. You lean into his touch, the warmth of his palms grounding you.
“You good?” he asks. His thumbs move gently across the muscle where your neck meets your shoulders. “I see you’re working.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “Just trying to make the exhibition of your owned pieces successful. The world needs to know how much you love art–and how much you care about making it accessible.”
His eyes light up at that. That same quote from Art Basel–you’ve remembered it. You’ve made it a mission. His dimple shows when he smiles, arms sliding slowly around your middle.
“I fucking love you,” he murmurs against your neck, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “And how hardworking you are.”
You sigh softly, melting just a little.
Then his hands trail lower, brushing the hem of your skirt.
“Do you…” he starts, voice dipping, “want to do anything tonight?”
The suggestion is obvious. His tone warm, a little playful. His lips grazing your neck now. You’d love to say yes. You’d love for him to erase the stress in your chest with his mouth and hands and all the love he’s too afraid to say out loud too often.
But deadlines still loom. You need to follow up with an installation technician, send one more message to the AV rental team, review the caption edits from the translator.
“I have to work, my love,” you say, turning slightly, hand cupping his cheek. He looks at you–still smiling, still soft.
“That’s not a problem,” he says.
And before you can ask what he means, he sinks to his knees.
Your brows lift in disbelief as he ducks under the table, settling between your legs like it’s the most natural place to be. His body large and slightly hunched beneath the small desk, knees spreading as he positions himself between your calves.
You laugh a little, incredulous. “Namjoon–what are you doing?”
But he doesn’t answer right away. Just runs his hands up your thighs, bunching the tight fabric of your pencil skirt up inch by inch. His fingers slide beneath the edge of your pantyhose, then your panties, tugging both down in one fluid motion. Your breath catches.
He looks up at you from between your knees, gaze warm and a little mischievous. “You’re working so hard, baby. Let me take care of you for a bit.”
And in that moment, all the noise–the harassment, the exhaustion, the weight of responsibility–pauses. Fades. The only thing that exists is the man kneeling beneath your desk like a prayer, ready to worship every inch of you.
And maybe, for tonight, you let him.
"Okay, babe. I'll keep on working," you say, though even as the words leave your mouth, you already know it’s going to be impossible.
Your voice is unsteady, breath catching at the end. Your thighs are parted under the table, pantyhose and panties tangled loosely around one ankle, your skirt hiked indecently high. And yet somehow, your fingers remain on the keyboard, trembling slightly as you attempt to finish a sentence about exhibition flow logistics.
The glow of the screen casts soft light over your flushed face.
Namjoon doesn’t rush. He kisses the inside of your knee first, soft and deliberate, then trails slow, reverent presses of his mouth up the sensitive skin of your thigh. You feel the gentle scrape of his stubble, the heat of his breath.
He’s not trying to distract you–he’s trying to worship you. And it’s honestly what you need right about now with all these things driving you nuts.
You blink hard at your screen, trying to keep typing. You tap out the next two words with stiff precision. His hands anchor your hips to the chair, thumbs rubbing light circles into the base of your thighs. Then he tilts his head and brings his mouth to you–warm, open, and utterly patient.
Your breath stutters.
His tongue parts you, slow and deliberate, and you’re gone. Your hands pause on the keyboard, hovering over the keys, back arching just slightly as your thighs flex around him.
“Fucking h-hell..,” you whisper, barely audible, more air than voice.
He hums softly against you, the vibration pulsing straight through your core.
Still, you try. You type two more words, then three, but your legs are trembling now, your focus shattered. Every swirl of his tongue pulls you deeper from the present, deeper from the demands of work and the exhaustion of being someone strong for everyone.
Namjoon groans low and moves his mouth more purposefully, tongue circling in rhythm, lips pulling gently, tenderly. His hands never leave you. One grips your knee, the other slides around to cradle your hip.
“Joon–” your voice breaks, pleading.
Above the table, the cursor blinks in the middle of an unfinished sentence.
Below it, he pulls you closer to the edge of the chair with a firm tug, never once breaking rhythm. You reach blindly for the edge of the table, gripping it for balance, for something to hold onto while he undoes you inch by inch. You can feel his breath, feel how achingly focused he is, how much he means this.
He doesn't care that you're trying to be composed. He knows how much you carry. He knows you're holding the entire show together–your career, his exhibition, the weight of his reputation–and he just wants to give you something in return. Even if it's just this.
Your head drops back. “I’m not gonna be able to finish this,” you whisper.
From beneath the table, his voice is dark with affection, almost teasing. “Then don’t.”
And for once, you don’t. You stop typing. You close your eyes.
And you let yourself feel everything.
But just as you start to think you might lose all control, Namjoon shifts slightly, his fingers finding a new, impossibly sensitive spot. The heat of his mouth intensifies, tongue flicking expertly, coaxing a breathless gasp from deep in your chest.
Your back arches without thought, hips pressing downward, desperate for more contact, more of the way he makes you feel–seen, wanted, alive.
Then, suddenly, that subtle, deliberate pressure–the one you didn’t even know you were holding out for–comes.
It’s enough to shatter your restraint.
“F-Fuck me..!”
Your jaw clenches hard as a shudder crashes through you. One hand shoots up, pushing against the side of his head, trying to slow the whirlwind he’s set loose.
Namjoon chuckles, “I will after we move to another spot.”
“F-Fine, let’s do that and I’ll get to this later t-then,” you manage between ragged breaths, voice shaking with the effort to keep control.
You slam the laptop shut with a sharp snap, the sudden silence almost as electric as his touch.
Forgetting everything else–the emails, the guest lists, the harassment, the exhaustion–you revel in the moment.
The man beneath you, kneeling like a worshipper, eyes dark and steady, hands ready to hold you through every tremor.
You don’t want this to end.
It doesn’t take long before your body betrays you completely.
“N-Namjoon!” Warm waves pulse through your core as you come undone, breath hitching, fingers curling into the edge of the table to steady yourself.
You make a mess, and you don’t care. And neither does he.
You’re a huffing, trembling mess, breath shallow and uneven as Namjoon’s lips finally lift away, his tongue retreating but not before he eagerly consumes every drop of your release. He looks up at you, eyes dark and gleaming with that familiar, wicked smirk.
Your mind’s a jumble, but one clear thought surfaces and loops–bed or couch? The couch. It feels more spontaneous, less planned, like it matches the wildness of this night. Namjoon’s expression shifts, as if he’s reading your thoughts.
With a slow, deliberate push, he nudges the chair forward to slip out from beneath the table. Standing now, he towers over you, a striking contrast of height and warmth. His hands reach out, cupping your hips with gentle authority. Before you can say anything, he lifts you up effortlessly.
The walk to the couch is a blur of fluttering heartbeats and tingling skin. He lays you down carefully, eyes never leaving yours as if memorizing every inch.
Then his hands move to your crisp white collared shirt, fingers deft and confident, unbuttoning it with a patience that makes your skin itch in anticipation. The fabric slips away, revealing the curve of your bra beneath. His hands trail lower, sliding the straps off your shoulders, peeling it away like it’s something sacred.
Namjoon’s lips descend eagerly, no longer gentle but claiming–pressing hard enough to leave dark, unmistakable marks against your bare skin. One hickey blooms just below your collarbone, then another trails lower, tracing a fiery path along your chest. His mouth works with purpose, each bite and suck leaving a bruise full of desire.
You gasp, breath catching as his hands slide around your sides, pulling you closer. Without breaking contact, he shifts his weight, moving on top of you, the heat of his body pressing down. Your heart hammers in your chest as the weight of him anchors you–both comforting and overwhelming.
Namjoon pauses briefly, eyes dark and burning as he looks up at you. His breath fans over your skin, warm and intoxicating.
“Do you know how much I want you right now?” he murmurs, voice low and husky.
“Not as much as I want you, that for sure,” You laugh, but your body trembles under his weight and touch.
And god, does he love that response.
His hands roam up to cup your breasts firmly. Without hesitation, his mouth descends on one nipple, sucking and nibbling on it with slow, deliberate pressure that sends sharp jolts of pleasure through you. You swear you’re levitating from his actions. Then he switches, teasing and swirling his tongue around the other, leaving a wet, bruising trail. You’re going to be in a lot of pain later on.
In this position, with him on top sucking your tits, you feel every ounce of power and desire between you. It’s raw, magnetic. You’re completely exposed, utterly claimed, and it ignites something fierce and thrilling deep inside you.
Namjoon groans softly against your skin, his breath hot where his mouth leaves a final mark just above your heart. Then he lifts his head, eyes locking with yours–full of intensity and reverence all at once. His hands slide down your sides, deliberate, grounding. He shifts slightly, pushing up from the couch just enough to reach for the button of his cargo pants. The faint sound of the zipper lowering sends a fresh wave of anticipation through you.
Without a word, he helps turn you gently onto your side, one hand curling under your waist while the other lifts your left leg just enough to hook it over his shoulder. The angle feels natural, close, connected. His chest brushes your back as he leans in, his hand steadying your thigh. Then he pauses, lowering his head to press a kiss just below your ear.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers.
“It’s not,” you breathe, already aching for more. “Please, Namjoon…”
“Don’t need to beg me for more, baby. I got you.”
You feel him guide himself slowly, carefully, easing in with a patience that nearly undoes you. The stretch is deep, measured–and it makes your body hum. A full-body kind of euphoria rushes over you, like the world outside this moment has gone completely silent. Your fingers grip the edge of the couch, breath stuttering as he fills you gradually.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut.
He lets out a low, strained breath near your shoulder. “You always feel incredible…”
And then he stills for a second, both of you soaking in the heat, the pressure, the dizzying intimacy of it all. He presses his hand over yours, grounding you again before pulling back–slow, deep–and pushing in again with a rhythm that already has your head spinning.
His rhythm is steady, intentional. Each motion slow and full, like he’s trying to memorize how you feel around him. You clutch the armrest of the couch with one hand, the other pressed against his forearm where it wraps around your waist. He holds you close, his mouth brushing your shoulder between soft, breathless grunts.
And yet, through the haze of pleasure, something stirs low in your chest. A flicker of dread, quiet but sharp. You don’t know why, but a sense of finality presses against your ribs like a warning. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion, the way life’s been spinning lately, but it clings to you–makes you want to hold on tighter.
You glance over your shoulder at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s looking at you–like you’re the only thing that makes sense.
You want to remember this. Every breath, every sound, every brush of his skin against yours. If this is all temporary, if somehow the world decides to rip it away… you want to know you gave him everything.
“Joon,” you whisper, voice trembling. “P-Put me on top.”
His eyes darken slightly, lips parting. “Yeah. Yeah, come here.”
With his help, you shift until Namjoon is lying fully back against the cushions, legs slightly parted, eyes on you like you’re something sacred. You swing one leg over and straddle him, facing away from his chest, your back to him. A thrill runs down your spine at the change in perspective. The reverse angle gives you power, control, and just enough distance to revel in the delicious tension.
You sink down onto him slowly, savoring the stretch, the heat of him filling you again. He groans beneath you, hands gripping your hips firmly, guiding your descent. You move gently at first, testing the angle, then begin to roll your hips in slow, deliberate circles.
“Oh–fuck,” he breathes behind you, and it shoots straight through your core.
Then, carefully, you begin to lean back. Your spine curves, shoulders easing into his chest, until the back of your head rests near his collarbone. The moment your bodies align, something settles. His arms snake around your waist, holding you tightly to him, and now you’re both locked in–completely fused.
The new position is overwhelming in the best way. Every shift of your hips grinds you against him deeply, while his hands roam across your thighs, your stomach, your breasts–like he can’t decide where to touch first. His lips brush your temple, then your jaw, leaving small kisses as he whispers, “This angle is driving me nut. You’re so goddamn perfect, Y/N.”
You breathe out shakily, overwhelmed by the emotion threading between each thrust. Your palms grip his forearms for grounding. He cradles you like you’re something to be cherished, even as your movements grow needier.
Your thoughts spin as you ride the edge–how strange it is to feel so full, so adored, and yet still shadowed by something intangible. That ache in your chest is back, not from pain but from knowing this moment feels too beautiful, too fragile.
If everything crashes tomorrow… let him have this tonight. Let yourself give everything.
You reach back, fingers threading into his hair, turning your face just enough to find his lips. The kiss is twisted, sideways, messy, and perfect.
“Don’t let go yet,” you whisper, breath catching.
“Never,” he murmurs into your skin, and his hips lift to meet yours, deep and slow, again and again.
You let your eyes flutter closed, breath mixing with his, hips grinding down in a rhythm that builds and builds.
Namjoon's hands move deliberately now, sliding up from your waist to your chest, cupping you fully in both palms. You arch into his touch instinctively, still leaning against him in that perfect, vulnerable curve. His fingers tease and knead, thumbs brushing over your nipples in lazy, confident strokes. Each pass sends another wave of heat spiraling through you, your body straining with every controlled movement of your hips.
“You’re everything,” he murmurs into your neck, voice low and hoarse. “So beautiful like this.”
Your breath stutters in your throat as his hand slides lower again, past your stomach, fingers finding the spot that’s already aching for more. The moment he starts to circle your clit, your hips falter–only slightly–but enough for him to notice.
“There it is,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple.
It’s all too much and yet not enough. Your chest is heaving, your whole body drawn taut as he continues that steady rhythm from below and above, deep thrusts meeting your slow grind, one hand playing with your breast, the other coaxing that final unraveling from your core.
You clutch at his arms, head lolling back onto his shoulder, a soft moan escaping your lips as the pleasure crests inside you. Your vision blurs at the edges, your body trembling with release, the feeling blooming deep and full and all-consuming. And through it all, Namjoon is holding you, watching you fall apart in his arms, like this is all he’s ever wanted.
As the waves fade, you stay there, chest rising and falling in time with his, both of you quiet, grounded in each other. He doesn’t let go. Just runs his hand over your ribs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, like he’s committing this moment to memory.
And for tonight, you let yourself do the same.
Afterward, the room is thick with the scent of sweat and skin, the sheets tangled loosely around your legs. You’re tucked against Namjoon’s side in that familiar spooning shape, his arm heavy over your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing to yours. His fingertips trace faint, lazy circles into your hipbone, not trying to start anything–just staying close.
But the warmth between you doesn’t last. After a while, he shifts behind you, carefully untangling himself. You feel the bed dip as he slides off, padding silently across the room. He grabs the lighter from his nightstand and slides open the balcony door.
You don’t follow. You never do. He always takes his breaks in solitude, especially when he’s brooding. But tonight… something in your chest aches.
Through the thin veil of the curtains, you see him step into the moonlight, the soft city breeze tousling his hair. He’s shirtless, sweat cooling on his skin, loose drawstring pants sitting low on his hips. His back is to you–broad, strong, etched with faint muscle lines. The rise and fall of his shoulders is slow, contemplative. You’ve seen that attractive silhouette dozens of times, always with a cigarette pinched between his fingers, always after something heavy.
The flame flickers in his palm. A brief glow. Then he lifts it to his lips, inhales. His spine stretches with the movement, neck tilted slightly up as he exhales a plume of smoke into the dark.
You lie there watching, arms wrapped around yourself. And for the first time, the sight of him like that doesn’t comfort you.
It makes your chest hurt.
You don’t know why exactly. Maybe it’s the heaviness in his posture. Or the way the moon catches on his profile, making him look farther away than he is. Or maybe it’s because no matter how close you are–no matter how many times he’s inside you, beside you–there’s a storm circling both of you that no amount of love can shield.
You sit up slowly, sheets rustling. “What’s on your mind?”
He doesn’t turn around at first. Just exhales again, cigarette held loosely between two fingers. “It’s nothing.”
You wait. He knows you want an answer. He doesn’t want to worry you either, but it’ll cause more trouble if he doesn’t tell you.
So finally, he sighs, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “I went to the Leeum Museum event today. That Samsung Frame campaign thing I’m doing.” He pauses. “Someone heckled me on the way out.”
Your stomach drops.
“Heckled?” you repeat.
He nods. “A woman. Probably a sasaeng. She told me I should demand a refund for donating to Kukje. Said the gallery doesn’t deserve my money. And then…” He hesitates. “She said if I keep being involved with them, they won’t stand by idly.”
Your mouth goes dry. “What?”
“I didn’t react. Just kept walking. Everyone else freaked out, but I didn’t want to give it oxygen.”
You press your hand to your chest, steadying your breath. This isn’t the first sign. But it’s the first time they’ve gotten close to him. The first time their threats sounded…real.
He finally glances over his shoulder, catching your expression.
“Do you think someone knows about–”
“No,” you cut in too fast. “I don’t think that’s it.”
A lie. You say it anyway.
Namjoon stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray beside the door and slides it shut behind him. He steps into the room again, the chill of the outside still clinging to his skin.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” you say softly, forcing calm into your voice. “People like that… they don’t think rationally. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You continue to offer him gentle, reassuring words. Telling him that you’re glad nothing else happened to him, but you don’t say what you’re really thinking.
That this might be your fault.
That if you hadn’t spoken back, if you hadn’t gone to HYBE that day, if you hadn’t disappeared with him at the after party... if you hadn’t fallen for him, if you hadn’t met him that night at the museum…this might not have escalated.
If you hadn’t let yourself fall into this thing–whatever this is–you wouldn’t be endangering the very person you love.
You blink fast, pushing down the tightness in your throat.
“I should get up,” you murmur, already moving.
Namjoon frowns. “Where are you going?”
You keep your back to him as you step into the bathroom. "I just remembered I need to send a few emails for the exhibition. Some last-minute logistics with the gallery team. The show opens tomorrow, so I should get on that. I’ll shower and then work again in the kitchen."
There’s a quiet stillness between you two as you disappear from his sight. A pause weighing with the things you’re not saying.
His eyes follow you with quiet uncertainty, but he doesn’t stop you.
And you wish he would.
The rest of the evening unfolds in a tense hush. He sits on the sofa with a book, the pages moving more slowly than usual. You sit at the dining table, focused on your laptop. You both steal glances but say little.
Later, it's time to go. Namjoon insists his manager pick you up from the underground garage at Nine One. You accept the offer, graciously.
As you walk toward the elevator, he grabs your hand, pulling you gently toward him. His fingers playfully tease the curve of your palm.
"You’re really not staying?" His voice is low, teasing, and his smirk–along with that deep, amused chuckle–sends a shiver down your spine.
You smile, trying not to melt. "Wish I could. But duty calls for a big day ahead!"
He sighs, nodding. "I feel you. We got a press release to go to for the album, then a weverse live, then some other schedules. Then finally, the comeback performance at Gwanghwamun. First time the fans will see all seven of us together again…so many people from around the world are going to this."
You had forgotten he told you this is all happening the same day. The exhibition and their first group comeback after 4 years. The lack of sleep has been getting to you, and you sincerely hope he hasn’t noticed.
Your expression softens. "You’ll do amazing. All of you will! I can’t wait to hear all about it."
“I can’t wait to hear more about the exhibition. I know so many armys will be going to support this while they’re here too.”
He kisses you goodbye, a little longer than necessary, as if trying to memorize the shape of your lips before you cease to exist for a moment in time. You promise to see each other this weekend before he flies to the states for US promotion schedules, planning to come by your new exhibition. He steps back, and you step out of the door, heart heavy and hopeful all at once.
When you finally arrive home, there’s a single piece of paper folded neatly and tucked into the gap between your apartment door and frame. You pause, eyes narrowing. No stamps, no envelopes–just plain white paper, like a cruel little invitation. Something about it bubbles unease up from your gut.
You glance over your shoulder.
Nothing. No footsteps. No shadows. No camera clicks. Nothing… and yet, the hallway feels colder.
You pick up the note, fingers trembling slightly as you open it. And then, without warning…
Your stomach drops.
“BTS will be having their first comeback live at Gwanghwamun. That is when I will finally act.
There are two things I plan to do.Committing acts of violence that will hurt Kim Namjoon.
Money is no issue for me.
I know staff who are a part of this event that will help me follow through.
He needs to know how disrespectful his actions are to his fans by dating. He needs to understand the pain we feel–the pain all ARMYS will feel if you two ever go public. He needs to know people will leave them.
It will destroy the group. It will ruin their careers.
You need to cut contact and disappear somewhere he can’t find you.
You have 12 hours.
If you tell the police or Namjoon, I will know.
And I won’t hesitate to go to Nine One and do the job myself. Maybe even get a truck to do it.”
There’s more. You almost don’t want to look.
But you do.
A small plastic bag is attached to the bottom of the note. Inside: a lock of hair. Streaked in red. Blood. Who’s hair? Who fucking knows…
Your vision blurs. The letter slips from your hands and flutters to the floor like something out of a horror film.
You collapse to your knees.
Your heart is racing, head pounding, breath caught in your throat. You can’t even scream–there’s no voice, only disbelief. Terror. Rage. Grief.
This is madness. Namjoon is a 31-year-old grown man. You’re 27. You’re both adults–two consenting people who found connection in a chaotic world. Since when did love become something punishable by death threats?
Tears spill hot and fast down your cheeks.
You think about earlier tonight. His arms around you. The way he kissed you with so much passion and desire to consume you. The heaviness in his sighs as he took drags from his cigarette. The confession about being heckled at a museum. And now… this.
Now it’s not just about you. Not just about your privacy or your safety.
This is about Namjoon.
And someone wants to hurt him to prove a point.
And if anything ever happened to Namjoon…
If anything happened to him because of you…
You don’t finish the thought. You can’t.
Your whole body trembles. You clutch your chest, trying to force your lungs to expand again, but the sobs come hard. You curl in on yourself on the floor, your vision blurred from tears, your thoughts collapsing into chaos.
This is the dread your intuition was warning you about earlier. As if your heart already knew that time would be the last.
You want to scream. You want to throw something. You want to burn the note, flush it, pretend it was never real. But your shaking hands won’t even let you stand up.
You don’t know how long you stay like that. But when your tears finally slow, your hands feel steadier.
You pick up the note with shaking fingers, fold it carefully, and press it flat against your knee.
You don’t know what to do yet. But you do know one thing:
You have to protect him.
Even if that means… he can’t know.
Even if it means walking away.
Even if it shatters both of you.
You will need to do this.
Now.
It’s for the best.
Namjoon wakes up the next morning in a cold sweat, chest rising with shallow breaths. He blinks against the soft gray light seeping through the curtains, skin clammy beneath the sheets. For a moment, he doesn’t know what jolted him out of sleep–only that it lingers.
A heaviness in his ribs. A pull in his gut.
Maybe it was the whiskey. A glass before bed, neat, to calm his nerves as he sensed something he couldn’t explain. Probably a bad idea, considering the packed schedule he has today. Morning meetings, the album drop at 1pm, the press release, the weverse lives, more pre-recordings in the afternoon.
He doesn’t have time to be sluggish. Doesn’t have time for these dreams that vanish the second he wakes but leave behind that familiar weight. That something-isn’t-right kind of feeling.
He sits up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, then glances at his phone on the nightstand. No missed calls. No notifications.
Still, he types out a few messages to you anyway–short, sweet bursts of affection.
[Namjoon]good morning baby.i hope you slept okay.today’s the big day. you’ve got this.also pls eat something. no surviving on barley tea again.
He even adds a goofy selfie of himself brushing his teeth, toothpaste foam in the corner of his mouth. A peace sign. A soft-eyed grin.
Then he sets the phone down and gets up to start his day.
Hours pass.
And the messages remain unread.
Unanswered.
He tells himself it’s fine. You're probably busy. Maybe the gallery Wi-Fi is spotty. Or maybe you're buried under last-minute logistics and emails and don't have the energy to reply. He knows how dedicated you are–how much this show means to you. To both of you.
But that odd feeling from last night doesn’t quite leave him. It curls tighter in his chest with every minute of silence.
Still, he checks his phone more times than usual.
He heads to the location for the album press release with the rest of the members, waving at the crowd of fans gathered outside the place. The event passes smoothly.
Then the album drops!
Nerves. Excitement. He hopes fans are loving the album as much as they did. He feels a sense of relief from finally seeing it out. Hoping that this album will open up more freedom and potential for them in the near future.
Everyone’s in good spirits. There’s laughter, banter, a strong sense of being back. Afterward, they head back to HYBE for their album weverse live to discuss everything and anything to do with the album. Another round of fans outside, flashing lights, energy.
Namjoon goes through all of it like clockwork. Business as usual, after all.
By the time the group wraps up for day 1 of album promo, they’re packed back into separate vans to head home. Namjoon is quiet. Jimin, sitting beside him, glances over.
“Why do you keep refreshing your apps like that?” Jimin asks, raising an eyebrow.
Namjoon exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I messaged her this morning. Still nothing.”
Jimin shrugs lightly. “Ah, well she’s probably just slammed. From the moment I met her, I knew she was your type–hardworking, a little chaotic upstairs,” he teases, tapping his temple. “But smart. Exactly like you.”
Namjoon huffs a small laugh. He appreciates the joke. He agrees, too. You’re probably overwhelmed with work. That has to be it. He’s feeling the same after all.
But as they near their apartment building, his phone screen is still empty. No reply. Not even a read receipt.
He sends you another message before bed that night. He says he hopes the first day of the exhibition went well. That he’s proud of you. That he wants to stop by tomorrow evening if his schedule opens up.
He adds a small note about additional promo schedules and the tour. It’s getting close. He’s about leave for the US to do a Spotify event and be on Jimmy Fallon again. He just needs to get through the Netflix performance live stream.
He’s excited, of course. But with this, it also means he won’t see you for a while because of all the crazy schedules and time abroad. He’s seriously considering finding a way for you to travel with them under the pretense of researching museums or writing about art in different cities. Or maybe having you be a part time staff. He’d tag along with you on off-days, visit exhibitions together, hold your hand in cities where no one would bat an eye.
It’s a dream he’s been thinking about more and more lately.
But when he finally turns off the lights and closes his eyes, his chest is tight. He hasn’t felt this kind of restlessness in months.
Not since before you.
He flips over, checks his phone again.
Still nothing.
The sun rises, and the silence remains.
In the early morning, Namjoon is running through final rehearsal in HYBE’s practice room with the rest of the group before heading out to film a performance video for Studio CHOOM. The music blares, bodies move in sync, sweat glistens on their brows–but even in the middle of the choreography, Namjoon’s mind drifts.
The second the song ends, he leans over to grab his water bottle and wipes his face with a towel. His brows are furrowed.
“You okay, hyung?” Taehyung asks.
Namjoon nods slowly. “Haven’t heard from Y/N in two days.”
Jin raises a brow. “Did you guys fight?”
“No. Nothing like that,” Namjoon says, voice low. “Everything was fine when we saw each other. She came over. Did things. Talked.”
Yoongi, sitting on the bench behind them, crosses his arms. “You sure she’s not just busy?”
Namjoon hesitates.
That’s what he’d been telling himself. But something’s gnawing at him. Something he can’t shake.
He thinks back to when he was spooning you. The way you were quiet. When he went out for a smoke. The moment you got up abruptly, saying you had to shower. The way you didn’t meet his eyes as you sat at the kitchen table and focused too hard on your laptop screen. It wasn’t like you. Not fully.
And then, he remembers the conversation.
The heckler at the museum.
That woman.
The one who confronted him during the Samsung event earlier in the week, saying he should request a refund for his donations to Kukje Gallery. Telling him the museum didn’t deserve his support. Pleading for him to stop affiliating himself with it or else “they” wouldn’t stand by idle.
At the time, he’d brushed it off. A sasaeng, probably. Someone delusional. But he hadn’t missed the flicker in your eyes when he told you. You said it probably wasn’t about you two. You’d dismissed it immediately.
Too immediately.
“That has to be it,” Namjoon mutters under his breath, dropping his towel.
“What?” Jungkook asks.
Namjoon looks at the group. “The heckler. I think she’s connected to those sasaengs who have been stalking the HYBE building lately. I wonder if Y/N ran into them when she came by that one time, but she would’ve told me about it.”
Silence falls over the room.
Jungkook frowns. “Hyung… if that happened, then maybe this could be serious.”
“Simply mentioning those sasaengs, you already know it’s not good,” Yoongi mutters. “You’ve seen what those people are capable of.”
“They’ve driven out other girlfriends before,” Hoseok adds quietly. “Maknae line, especially.”
“In my case, my ex was the insane one..” Jimin said, “Though I know Y/N is not like that at all, especially from the times I saw her.”
“Right!” Jungkook further supported.
Namjoon sits on the bench, phone clutched tightly in his hand.
You would have told him if that happened though. He knows you would’ve… wouldn’t you?
Unless you were trying to protect him.
Unless you didn’t want to burden this on him knowing he’s busy.
Unless you thought disappearing was the best thing you could do to keep him focused on his goals.
The idea hits him hard.
He gets up suddenly. His chest aches, breath shallow, panic blooming in the back of his mind.
“Hyung?” Taehyung asks.
Namjoon doesn’t answer. He unlocks his phone and tries again.
Another message might be good to send, right?
This time, a voice memo.
“Y/N… it’s me. I don’t know what’s going on, but please–please just text me. Call me. Anything. I don’t care if you’re busy. I don’t care if you’re mad about something. I just need to know you’re okay.”
He hits send.
Then lowers his hand, staring at the blank screen once more. His members surround him, comforting him and worried about you.
For the first time ever, he’s pleasing to God, hoping you’re okay.
Namjoon pushes himself through the chaos of the day, back-to-back final rehearsals for netflix live show tonight, press interviews, stylists pulling him every which way, clinging to one thing: the hope that he’ll see you soon tomorrow.
The scale of it all is impossible to ignore.
The Netflix comeback show is massive. Bigger than anything they’ve done in years. Seoul feels like it’s holding its breath for them. Banners line the streets, cameras are everywhere, production crews moving with speed through the venue. Thousands of fans already filling the streets filled with seats, their voices rising in waves even before the show begins. And beyond that, millions more waiting behind screens across the world, counting down to the moment BTS steps back into the light.
It should be enough.
It is enough.
But you’re not here.
And that absence is loud.
Too loud.
He sits in the styling chair, shoulders squared, cape draped over him as hands move around his face and hair with practiced efficiency. Foundation, powder, brush strokes across his cheekbones. Someone adjusts the fall of his fringe. Another fixes his in-ear monitor.
Voices blur around him.
Schedules. Timing cues. Last-minute changes.
He hears none of it.
All he can think about is you.
Your phone, still unanswered.
Your place, empty.
The way you just… disappeared.
His jaw tightens.
Focus.
He tries to anchor himself. This matters. The members. The fans. The years they’ve waited to stand on a stage like this again. He knows what’s at stake. He knows what he owes.
But his mind keeps slipping.
What if something actually happened to you?
What if he missed it?
What if—
“Namjoon.”
A hand taps his shoulder.
He blinks, eyes snapping back into focus. Jin stands beside him, already half-done with his own styling, lips pressed into a half-smile that doesn’t quite hide the concern in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Jin asks lightly, tilting his head. “It’s not nerves, right? Don’t tell me you forgot how to perform after all this time.”
There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but Namjoon knows better.
Jin sees him.
Sees the cracks forming.
Knows something’s wrong.
Namjoon exhales quietly, rolling his shoulders back, forcing himself upright again. “All good,” he says, steady. Convincing. “You ready to head out on stage?”
Jin studies him for a beat longer than necessary.
Then he grins, snapping into character. “Yes, sir.”
He salutes.
Namjoon groans, shaking his head, the tension easing just slightly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Say that after we kill this stage,” Jin shoots back.
A voice calls them.
“Five minutes to standby!”
The room shifts instantly. Energy sharpens. Members gather. Final checks. Microphones secured. Jackets straightened.
And then—
They’re moving.
The roar of the crowd hits before they even step out. Deafening. Electric. Alive.
And suddenly, Namjoon remembers exactly who he is.
RM of BTS.
He steps onto the stage, lights blinding for a split second before the world settles into something familiar. The beat drops. The opening track from Arirang surges through the cityscape, bass reverberating through his chest.
And he’s in it.
Fully.
Performing like he never left.
His voice cuts clean through the air, controlled and powerful. His body moves with precision, muscle memory taking over as he flows between verses and choreography. The members around him, locked in sync, feeding off each other’s energy like they always have.
They’re back.
Song after song, the set unfolds. New tracks from Arirang… Swim, Normal, Hooligan, Body to Body, FYA, merry-go-round… raw and charged with everything they’ve carried through the years. Then the classics slip in like old friends.
“Dynamite.”
“Butter.”
“DNA.”
“Spring Day.”
The crowd sings every word. Thousands of voices rising together, shaking the stadium to its core.
Ments come and go. Laughter. Stories. Gratitude poured out in waves. Namjoon speaks about the album, about time, about growth. About how much they’ve missed this.
And for a while, it feels real.
Grounding.
Like maybe he can hold it together.
Until the last song.
“Into the Sun.”
The opening notes are softer. Warmer. The kind of song that settles into your bones before you even realize it.
A confession.
A promise.
A longing.
He grips the mic tighter as he begins his verse, voice steady at first, but something shifts as the lyrics unfold.
Running toward someone.
Chasing light.
A vow to go anywhere if they call.
To meet the dawn together.
His chest tightens.
Because all he can think about is you.
Where are you?
Would you even call him?
Would you let him run to you if you did?
By the final chorus, his voice wavers.
Just slightly.
But enough.
He turns away for a second, swallowing hard, blinking fast as the lights blur at the edges. When he faces forward again, there’s a shine in his eyes he can’t quite hide.
The song ends.
The crowd erupts.
He lets out a breath, stepping forward, lifting the mic again.
“Sorry,” he says, voice softer now, a small, breathy laugh slipping through. “It’s just… it’s been so long since we’ve seen you all.”
The crowd responds instantly. Cheers. Shouts. Love thrown back at him tenfold.
“We made this song thinking about you,” he continues, nodding, trying to keep it together. “Wanting to come back and see you as soon as possible.”
It’s not a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
The members, who are also tearing up from the sudden emotions of performing together, glance at him. They know his truth.
They don’t say anything.
They don’t need to.
The show wraps safely. Clean. Perfect. Exactly what it needed to be.
But as the lights dim and the crowd’s energy begins to settle, as they bow and wave and take in the moment they’ve waited so long for—
Namjoon feels it again.
That pull.
That ache.
That need.
Because standing there, surrounded by everything he’s ever worked for, all he can think about…Is how badly he wants to run to you.
After all is done, the night ends. The next morning, at the earliest time of opening before large crowds rush in, he hopes you'll be there, tucked behind some gallery wall with a clipboard in hand, getting ready to greet guests with that soft, collected voice of yours. Maybe you’d catch his eye, give him that tiny smile like you always do when you see him. Maybe you'd finally explain everything.
He’s still telling himself it’s just stress. Just distance. Just temporary.
Wearing a mask, baseball cap, a Stussy 8-ball oversized white T-shirt and loose black pants, Namjoon slips through the doors of the Kukje Gallery quietly. Like he always does when he wants to remain invisible.
At the reception table, he gently approaches the staff.
“Hi… I’m looking for the art curator, L/N Y/N,” he says politely, trying to sound professional. “I’m here about a concept discussion. It’s in regard to one of the pieces in the exhibition.”
The staff member blinks, recognition flickering in their eyes, but something shifts. Their smile falters. And Namjoon sees it.
The moment something’s wrong.
“She’s not here,” the receptionist says carefully.
He straightens. “What do you mean? Is she out for a bit or–?”
“No… she’s no longer here with us.”
Namjoon’s heart stutters. No longer here… with us? What the hell does that mean?
He tries to breathe. “I’m sorry. Could you clarify? Did something happen to her?”
Please don’t say it.
Don’t say it like she’s dead. Don’t say something happened, that you were found somewhere, lifeless. That the last time he kissed you goodbye would be the final time. Because if that’s true, if something happened to you, Namjoon knows–he will never stop hunting down for the person responsible. He’ll burn the world down if he has to.
“There’s no need to worry.” A voice breaks through. Chairwoman Hyun-Sook Lee steps up beside him, graceful and calm as ever. “Mr. Kim Namjoon, yes? Let’s speak in my office.”
Namjoon follows her wordlessly, the whole gallery feeling too quiet, too hollow, like something vital has already left the space.
Inside the office, she closes the door gently behind them and they sit down in the chairs.
“She came in Friday morning… 2 days ago,” she says, motioning for him to sit. “She looked… shaken. Said she needed to resign.”
“Resign?” Namjoon repeats, voice hoarse. “On the day of the exhibition?”
“Yes. I asked her how she could just walk away, especially when this show was partially built on her vision. She hesitated for a while but eventually said there was a family emergency and she had to leave the country immediately.”
Namjoon clenches his jaw.
Lies. He can hear it in every word. You wouldn’t do this–not without telling him. Not unless something serious, something threatening, forced your hand.
“She didn’t tell me where,” the Chairwoman continues, sighing. “But she looked… resolved. Sad, but sure. I told her if she ever finds her way back, Kukje would welcome her with open arms. Not every institution would offer that. But I mean it. It would be devastating to lose a voice like hers forever.”
Namjoon nods, swallowing back the ache building in his throat.
“It really would.”
Namjoon manages a polite thank-you before getting up from his chair, but his chest is burning.
This isn’t just a disappearance. It’s an erasure.
Where did you go?
Chairwoman Hyun-Sook Lee gives Namjoon a moment to gather himself before softly gesturing toward the hallway just beyond her office.
“You should see it, Namjoon-ssi. Before you leave. The exhibition. She… she hoped you’d come. Told me that just yesterday. Said she wanted you to like it.”
His breath catches.
So even when she was preparing to vanish, you were still thinking about him. About this.
He walks the gallery slowly, shoulders hunched, his cap pulled low as he slips into the first showroom. It’s early still, before the official opening hours. There’s no press, no clinking glasses, no polite applause echoing in the halls. Just the art. Quiet, reverent.
And all of it, unmistakably touched by your vision.
Roni Horn’s Untitled (But the boomerang that returns is not the same one I threw) glows from within its translucent glass body. A massive, glacial cylinder that looks cold to the eye but pulses with something warmer beneath the surface. Namjoon stands before it, remembering how he once stared at this piece for nearly an hour after a bad press cycle. You’d whispered the title aloud once while referencing circularity in memory. He hadn’t forgotten.
He moves on to Joel Shapiro’s geometric sculpture–its jagged posture feels like a body caught in motion, or collapse. He lingers at Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ soft-lit portrait, a piece made of nothing but absence and longing. Lee Bae’s thick charcoal textures rise from the canvas with quiet defiance. Yoo Yongkuk’s brilliant, controlled color burns behind his eyes even after he steps away.
Room by room, it becomes more unbearable.
These were his pieces. His personal collection. But somehow they feel changed. Transformed. They’re no longer just objects. They’re reflections of him curated by you–by someone who understood what each one meant. Someone who translated his silence into language.
Then he enters the final room.
It’s small, intimate, the lighting dimmed to a softer hue.
And there it is.
His first real acquisition. The painting that marked the beginning of his journey as a collector. He remembers staring at it in the corner of an old Seoul gallery years ago, overwhelmed by its simplicity–just brush, pigment, and space–and feeling like it had cracked something open in his chest.
Beside it, a wall label.
It’s longer than the others, a curatorial note. He steps closer.
"‘Burnt Umber & Ultramarine’ by Yun Hyong-keun resonates with the tension between discipline and surrender. The vertical strokes, layered in deep umber and ultramarine, evoke doors, windows–passages. This particular piece was the first acquired by Kim Namjoon, who believes that art should be accessible to all–bridging it to anyone who finds joy in it, because art, at its core, makes people happy. It remains the cornerstone of his collection. To him, it is not just pigment on canvas, it is a quiet reckoning. A reminder that even in restraint, something expansive can emerge. That surrender, when chosen, is its own kind of strength. And that love, real love, often lives in the spaces where we let go, not hold on.
Namjoon swears he hears your voice as he reads it. Like you’re there beside him, whispering every word through the gallery air.
His throat tightens. He tries to swallow, but it doesn’t go down.
You wrote this for him.
And somewhere between the lines–between “his collection”, “surrender” and “real love”–you’ve left something else. Something unspoken. Something tender and afraid and impossibly real.
You loved him.
Do you still do now?
His eyes begin to sting, and he exhales shakily, turning slightly away from the painting. He lifts his cap, dragging a hand over his face.
So this is what’s left.
A ghost of your voice on the wall, fragments of who you were scattered among the frames. And a man who still wants to believe that none of this is over.
But it feels like an ending.
Like everything golden is beginning to fade into ash.
He leaves the gallery with the evening light casting long shadows down the alley, footsteps quickening. His head buzzes with thoughts.
You mentioned many times that you lived in Myeongdong. But he never visited. It was too hard given his status and the bustling location. You also said your social circle in Korea was small, mostly work-related. Few close friends. No family in the country.
Where else could you be?
A hotel?
Abroad?
You mentioned growing up in San Francisco, California. Though is that still a place you call home? Or is it elsewhere?
Maybe social media would be able to tell.
He pulls out his phone, fingers shaking slightly, and opens Instagram.
He searches your username: @belleame
Nothing.
Did you change it?
He searches now with your name.
Again, nothing.
He refreshes. Checks the spelling. Tries again.
He checks his DMs that you had with him.
“This account no longer exists.”
His stomach flips. No.
He checks your Twitter. Facebook. Pinterest. Tiktok.
Gone. Every account. Deleted. Erased.
Panic crashes through him like a wave.
You’re gone. Not just physically. You’ve wiped yourself clean from the internet. From him.
No. No, no, no.
He opens his photo gallery, frantically scrolling. There: you, laughing with a cocktail at some bar in Seongsu. You, blurry in motion on an early Han River walk. You, lying beside him, tangled in bedsheets, your skin glowing in golden morning light. You in front of a Moon Jar at the Gallery Hyundai. You in front of a painting at the Leeum Museum. You looking directly at him, smiling like you already knew he was going to fall for you.
You existed.
You do exist.
But now?
Namjoon sinks onto a bench near his apartment, breath shallow. He thinks about what could have scared you off like this. Something happened. Something bad. Something you’re trying to shield him from. And yet, he can’t help but think:
Was I too careless? Was it the conversation we had that night? The exhibition? The way I kissed her hand in front of the members like I didn’t care who saw?
His thoughts spiral.
He briefly considers hiring a private investigator. But he has no address. No names. No leads. And everything public about you is gone.
You didn’t just leave.
You vanished.
Later that afternoon, he sits at his kitchen counter in silence, cracking open a cold beer with trembling fingers–not for pleasure, but to shut off the racing thoughts in his mind. The liquid goes down bitter and empty.
He should be packing to get on the flight to NYC later that evening, but he has no energy.
He doesn’t remember sending the message to the group chat. Just that Jimin and Yoongi are suddenly at his door thirty minutes later.
Yoongi brings soju. Jimin brings food.
They don’t say much. Don’t push. Just keep him grounded.
Namjoon’s hands clench around the bottle. “She’s gone.”
“Did she tell you? She didn’t leave a message, did she?” Jimin asks.
Namjoon shakes his head.
“She deleted her social media,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Even her exhibition contacts. She left the country. Or at least said she did. I don’t know what’s real.”
Yoongi watches him quietly. “And you really think this has something to do with the sasaengs?”
Namjoon nods. “She wouldn’t run unless something scared her off. I can feel it.”
Silence stretches between them.
“I think she tried to protect you, hyung,” Jimin murmurs.
That lands like a punch.
Because deep down, Namjoon knows it’s true.
You vanished not because you didn’t care.
You vanished because you cared too much.
“We’re leaving to New York, you know. Promotions, interviews, late night shows, all that crap–and then back here to start the world tour.” He pauses. “Are you really gonna let this derail everything?”
Jimin shoots him a sharp look from where he sits curled up on the couch. “Yoongi-hyung.”
“What?” Yoongi shrugs. “I’m not saying it to be cold. But someone needs to say it. He’s the group leader after all and we need his guidance more than ever right now.”
Namjoon stays silent, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down his beer bottle.
Yoongi crosses his arms. “Look. I know this is hell. I can’t even imagine how I’d be holding it together if I were you. But the reality is, we’ve got shit to do. Fans are watching. Staff are watching. And God knows if those sasaengs are too.”
He looks meaningfully at Namjoon. “You can’t let them catch wind that something’s off. You think they’re dangerous now? Imagine if they start connecting dots, if they sniff out what really happened. This could get worse. You need to keep your head on straight. For your safety, and for hers. Especially if what she did was a sacrifice to protect you.”
Namjoon swallows hard.
He hates how right Yoongi is.
Because as much as his heart is breaking, as much as the thought of you out there, alone and scared, twists his gut–it’s true. He has a duty. To his members. To ARMY. To you.
His feelings, messy and raw, have to wait.
But still, it hurts.
Like a pair of jeans worn too thin at the knees, stretched to their limits. Torn.
But he can stitch it back together.
He has to.
Jimin gets up and walks over, placing a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder.
“Hyung,” he says gently. “I know it feels impossible right now. But maybe… maybe this is a weird kind of fate.”
Namjoon looks up at him.
“You’re going on a world tour,” Jimin continues. “Think about it. You’ll be in every major city. Maybe she’s in one of them. You’ll get to check every corner of the globe without making it suspicious.”
Namjoon lets out a shaky breath. “I’ve been thinking about hiring someone.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow.
“A private investigator,” Namjoon clarifies. “Or someone discreet. Maybe pull in some of our trusted staff too. No one who would leak anything, obviously.”
Jimin brightens. “See? That’s a good plan. That’s something solid to work with. It’ll be okay, hyung. We’ll figure this out.”
Namjoon offers him a faint smile. “If I find her… then it’s meant to be. I’ll bring her home.”
Yoongi, quiet now, gives a single nod.
Namjoon’s voice drops to a whisper. “But if I don’t… maybe that’s the universe telling me to stop.”
Jimin frowns. “Don’t say that.”
“No, I’m serious,” Namjoon replies. “Maybe I’m just not meant to have that kind of love. Maybe it’s not part of my path.”
He stares down at the rim of his bottle.
“But I’ll search. I’ll keep trying… until the very end of this tour.”
The kitchen is quiet for a beat.
And then Yoongi murmurs, almost too quietly to hear, “Then let’s hope this tour leads you back to her.”
Namjoon nods.
Please, he thinks.
Let it lead me back to her.
Approaching the end of March. Several hours later, BTS boarded a flight to New York City for their Arirang US promotions.
Namjoon proceeded with things professionally, after the hope he got from his 2 members. The others started to see him slowly healing in this way, and also offered their help to find you somehow.
Then not long after, official kickoff of their long-awaited world tour back in Korea, starting in Goyang. Then… across the globe. City after city. Stadiums were filled to the brim, sold out shows lined their schedules, and everyone welcomed them with a ferocity that reminded them just how deeply they were loved.
Namjoon performed with practiced precision–his body moved, his voice roared through the mic, his verses hit with power–but somewhere behind his stage face, a fog lingered.
Every city they touched down in, he made time for himself in the day. Museums were his escape, his solace, his ritual.
At the Getty Center in LA, he wandered the tranquil gardens and stood silently in front of Van Gogh’s Irises, wondering what you would’ve said about the brushwork.
In San Francisco, he slipped into the SFMOMA early one morning, gazing at Rothko’s haunting blocks of color and thinking of your theories on tension and void.
In Chicago, he stood in front of the Thorne Miniature Rooms at the Art Institute, remembering how you once said small things contain the biggest truths.
But there was no sign of you.
A month passed.
They flew across the ocean to begin the Europe leg of the tour. Namjoon’s mind still wandered during car rides and long dressing room waits.
He spent quiet mornings at the Tate Modern in London, admiring the striking architecture and letting the works of Jenny Holzer and Anselm Kiefer soak into him.
In Berlin, he stood outside the Hamburger Bahnhof in the rain for twenty minutes before going in, something about the chill keeping him grounded.
At the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, he looked at sculptures that reminded him of your back, your voice, your sighs in bed.
Still nothing. Not a trace of you.
Two months slipped by. Then the Latin America leg began.
Columbia. Brazil, Chile, Argentina.
Cities felt too close to home now. He kept hoping you might be there. Just around the corner. In a crowd. Behind sunglasses.
He went to museums in all of them. Small ones. Big ones. Hidden ones.
Every time he entered a gallery, he scanned the room with anticipation lodged like a stone in his throat.
But again, you weren’t there.
In the liminal weeks between Latin American and Asia leg, the group returned to Korea. Namjoon, driven by a stubborn ache, went to the Kukje Gallery the very next day.
The same receptionist. The same polished halls. The same stillness.
He hoped–just maybe–you’d be drawn there again, like a phantom returning to familiar soil.
But you weren’t there either.
He retraced his steps. The coffee shop in Seongsu. The Han River path you both liked. The museum where you first held his hand in public.
He even sat at the bench outside his apartment building where you once waited for him with tteokbokki at 1AM.
No sign. No shadow. Not even a whisper.
Then came Tokyo, Taipei, Bangkok. Many more cities that blurred together.
Three months had passed now, and exhaustion pressed hard into his bones.
At every show, Namjoon’s eyes wandered the crowd as he rapped, looking for you. As if he might spot you swaying, glowing, watching him like you once did.
But the illusion always faded with the lights.
Maybe you didn’t want to be found.
Maybe you’d moved on.
Maybe you were with someone else now–laughing with them, sharing art with them, kissing them, touching them.
Maybe you were planning a life together.
Maybe the “no kids” talk you used to be so firm about was just another thing you could change.
Maybe the version of you that loved him was locked in a past life, and the real you had already closed that chapter.
These thoughts consumed him, haunted him.
He smiled on stage. But at night, he wrote.
And when the year turned, everything felt different.
Twelve months had passed.
So much had changed. And yet, in his heart, you still lingered.
Namjoon poured everything into his fifth solo album. He wrote about aging, longing, about distance, about miscommunication, about that final night in the bath with your back against his chest.
He wrote about regret. He wrote about love.
He wrote about the ache of an incomplete ending.
One song in particular, the one no one would hear but him, ended with a question he never dared ask out loud:
Why didn’t you say goodbye properly?
The company suggested he go on a solo tour. Namjoon accepted. It’ll happen 2 months from now.
He thought it might help him move on.
Work. More work.
It was all he could cling to.
Then one rainy afternoon, the knock came.
He was in his studio, deep into reworking a track when the door creaked open.
Jimin stepped inside.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said.
Namjoon blinked. “What is it?”
Jimin handed him an envelope. No markings. No stamp. Just a single postcard inside.
Namjoon turned it over in his hands and studied the front image: the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Sleek lines of glass and steel, the iconic oculus rising above the facade. A place he had walked through twice, a year ago, yet never with you.
A place you both once said you wanted to see together as it was right in your hometown.
He wanted to learn more about your world by going there, only to miss you more in your absence.
He frowned. “What’s this?”
“Flip it over.”
Namjoon turned it.
A message.
“To be loved accurately and to love accurately. I’m probably the one who knows least about how accurately my love reaches you. I don't think it'll ever reach anymore. But there's a place I want to go to. Could you meet me there if your heart still wavers?”
Namjoon’s breath left him in a single, unsteady exhale. His eyes scanned to the bottom.
Your signature.
Your writing.
His heart exploded in his chest.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “I went when we were on tour and never saw her there.”
Jimin shrugged softly. “I’ve been checking our fan mail every day with my manager. Just in case something ever showed up. For a whole year.”
Namjoon stared at him. “Jimin…”
“It came in this morning,” Jimin said. “There’s no return address. Just that.”
Namjoon looked back at the image.
He didn’t need anything else. The address was the image.
“I’m going,” he said, already grabbing his phone.
“Do it, hyung.”
And with the powerhouse of HYBE behind him, he made it happen.
A red-eye flight. A discreet hotel booking.
It would leak eventually, knowing sasaengs. But HYBE would spin it as a “business trip” in San Francisco if the media ever asked.
He packed clothes. A sketchbook. A notebook. His camera. One of the poems you liked.
He didn't sleep on the plane. He replayed questions he wanted to ask you in his head over and over.
Will you really be there?
Will you remember me?
Have you changed?
Do you still love me?
And then the final thought:
What if you don’t show up at all?
But he had to go.
He had to.
He touched down, barely took time to check into his hotel, and then made his way to the SFMOMA.
The moment he stepped inside, he felt breathless.
The soaring atrium with its skylit oculus poured daylight down the sweeping white staircase. Clean lines of glass and steel curved into quiet symmetry. The space hummed with subdued footsteps and the low murmur of strangers’ voices.
And then—
There you were.
Your back exposed in a flowing blue sundress, hair pinned up, shoulders soft.
Standing still before a painting.
It was a Yun Hyong-keun.
Bleeding into the canvas in layered shades of blue.
Namjoon’s heart seized.
He took a step forward and stood next to you.
And you turned.
“Did I keep you waiting long?” you asked, voice soft, eyes gleaming. It’s obviously been too long. You decided to go to New York City to live with your old friend after the chaos, and go work where the dream started at the Guggenheim. You needed to lay low for awhile. Being too close to him would’ve been too hard. You blocked any mentions of his name on social media to save your heart. You hid in the museums staff rooms keeping yourself busy, avoiding the guests you used to love seeing the art out there.
It was only just recently you found a new job here, thanks to your old connect at the Kukje. Back to your roots. Back to the city that raised you. It felt bittersweet to come back. And that's when you decided to gather the courage and send him the postcard.
He knew there's so much you had to tell him, but his first reaction was just to let out a breath that felt like it carried a year’s worth of pain.
Frustration. Relief. All in one.
“Are you kidding me?” he said, chuckling through the wetness already forming in his eyes. “I went through hell because of you.”
You likely did too, he thought. Probably even more than him.
“I know...I know,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry, like really. There was just so much–”
“No,” he interrupts, stepping closer, gaze fixed on yours. “Don’t be. Without you, my life felt empty, but I rationalized why you did it. I realized it not long after.”
Your heart skipped. Maybe it even stopped.
“I felt the same way...It was painful to leave like I did,” you said, voice cracking. “But even after all this time, would you… would you still be willing to give me some of your time again? In exchange, I’ll give you some of my sleep if you need it.”
Namjoon reached for your hand.
“The answer is always, yes. As long as you come home with me.”
“I will,”
And this time, he didn’t let go.
the end.
a/n: hi guys!! how did you like this fic? i really wanted to do a canon/idolverse fic for the longest time, but the issue was... i needed it to be as canon as possible just for immersion sake and reference a lot of things the members mention (in this case, namjoon). whenever i've read fics of this AU, i immediately get pulled out of the world once theres references or mentions of things the members never say or do or OCs. haha so this was my take on it. this may be my last fic in a long time due to work having me busy as well as life. i hope you enjoy this story, and happy birthday namjoon. i hope this fic never finds you haha, but if it does, please do not judge me at all i begggg
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this how i think bts would be if they was your husband
namjoon:
you’d have your own rooftop garden together; like he’d get someone to get it setup architecturally the way he has it envisioned in his head and to give like advice on the types of plants that are good for this set up but y’all would do all the seeding and watering and weed pulling yourselves
evening walks together around sunset through the park or around the river hand in hand where you just soak up nature and talk about any and everything
you both like the idea of having a pet but know that you're too busy to keep one regularly so you end up getting fish; he gets a cute little 20 gallon tank and like five fish but he actually does a lot of research on which fish live the best together, which food and treats they like best, the best plants and knick knacks to put inside, how to clean it, etc.; all in all takes the whole situation way more seriously than you'd thought he would; it was supposed to be sumn light for the summer time but you'd think he's filming an episode of tanked for all the time and effort he pours into it
sits side by side with you rubbing circles into your lower back whenever you need to rant about something
loves it when you get desperate for him so sometimes around the time you're ovulating he teases you; will walk around the house in nothing but his briefs with his glasses on talking in his deep voice; will invade your space like if you're in the kitchen making food or something he's gonna come up behind you and wrap that strong arm around your middle kissing up on you asking meaningless questions about what you're doing until you finally snap and drag him to the bedroom
consistently opens every door for you and pulls out your chair at restaurants even if it's five, ten years down the line
the type to never know where anything is; it's not even that you switch things up a lot it's just that he never forgot the muscle memory of where things were when he lived alone; so he's constantly calling out to you asking where something is; half the time what he looking for be in very obvious locations but his mind is just so all over the place that he overlooks it
uses you as his sounding board when he has a situation he needs handled; will just sit there and think out loud to you for minutes and hours; you don't even be saying that much really like occasionally he'll ask what you think but he appreciates having a listening ear more than anything and you're happy to be there for him even if his incessant rambling makes you wanna strangle yourself sometimes
would learn to help you take out your box braids; it makes you nervous when he first offers to help because he can be a bit rough sometimes but he's oddly gentle and diligent with the task; once he's gotten good with that you convince him to wash your hair too; and take down/wash day is less dreadful because of it
you two become a package deal; like it could be a boys night or a girl's night and you're always gonna try to bring the other with and most of the time y'alls friends don't mind like you're one of the boys and he's one of the girls so it's fine; even if he like invites some friends over the house and you stay in the room to give them some space at some point he's gonna go and check up on you; you'll just be laying in bed on your laptop or phone, watching tv or something and he's gonna lay beside you and ask what you doing make sure you're okay next thing you know 30 minutes gon go by and you'll have to remind him that he has guests over; then he's gonna convince you to come out with him and stay tucked up under his arm until his friends leave or pass out
seokjin:
draws you a bath when he knows you’ve had a long day; it’d be really nice too; he'd light your favorite candle and set it on the counter; add a fragrant moisturizing bath bomb and sprinkle in some flower petals; once you settle in he'll put down one of them over the tub trays and hand you a glass of wine and your laptop so you can watch whatever you want or stream music while you’re in the tub
loves referring to you as 'his wife'; like y'all will be with a group of your friends that knew you from the get go and they'll ask him where he got his jacket from and he'll be like "oh my wife bought it for me" and they'll be like "🥴 boi we knew her long before she was ever worried about you just say her name" aksksksk
every couple months y’all will go on cooking dates with his celebrity chef friends and their wives; which is basically them in the kitchen being loud cooking a meal he specifically chose for you and you and the wife not too far away watching them while being wined and dined
not particularly handy but he feels like as a man there’s just certain things he should be able to do; so if your sink is leaking or there’s a problem with your car battery or something he’s gonna hop on youtube and figure out how to solve it first; calls an actual repairman to deal with it if he can’t fix it without being moderately inconvenienced
insists on getting a pool installed even tho you tell him you would barely use it bc you hate having to redo your hair more than you like to swim; you actually do end up using it all the time bc he orders one of those giant canopy floats and y'all just lay up there and take naps or talk; the whole outdoor area is actually bomb tbh like there's an entire sheltered outdoor kitchen and grill patio area with fans on the ceiling for when it gets hot and a fully loaded bar; y'all honestly spend more time outside during the summer than inside and get scolded for not entertaining people more often
if you reeeaaalllyyy want him to go shopping with you he will but he’d rather just give you his card and you gather up some of your girls and y’all can go nuts together
tries to butter you up when he knows he's in trouble but it's never with anything good like he'll stop at the convenience store on the way home and pick up some things to try to sway you; he get home and you're waiting for him slightly ticked off and he's like "i know you're mad but look at what i got you and it's a cosmic brownie, sour gummy worms (his favorite candy mind you), some wet wipes, and an arizona tea
official driver of the relationship; lets you be the passenger princess of your dreams like whenever you need to get from point a to point b he’s getting you there all you gotta do is sit down and look pretty (and play decent music while he’s driving)
even if you’re not a certified Gamer Girl™️ when there’s like a new mario game or something along those lines that doesn’t require a ton of skill and know how to play you’ll no life it together; like will straight up play for like 16 hours a day until you beat it; you still force him to eat and shower however but you’re not allowed to touch the controller until he returns bc he’d be afraid you’ll lose all your lives
the type to get super close with your family; like you look over one day and see yo mama calling him and you listen to him and they're literally just catching up???; he goes out on bros days with your dad and brothers; all your cousins follow him on instagram and be sending him memes; and you just sit there tryna figure out how he singlehandedly replaced you in your family bc they be treating him better than they treat you
yoongi:
after hearing you talk about wanting a detached claw foot jacuzzi tub for the 1000th time he decides to just go ahead and get your dream house built from the ground up; gives his input in every step of the process since he has so many opinions on architecture, furniture, finishes, and overall aesthetics; sometimes there’s little disagreements when your design styles clash but in the end he makes sure that you definitely get everything you’ve ever wanted included
warms your car up for you in the morning during winter months; unimportant but i just know he would go out in a sweatshirt and some slides like barefoot toes out in 20° weather shuffling out to make sure your car is nice and cozy and the frost is off the windshield
every now and again you’ll just be chilling at home and then he’ll be like “yah go get dressed we’re going out” and then he’ll genuinely take you on one of the best dates ever; it may not be over the top every time but somehow it’s always exactly what you needed; acts nonchalant about it when you’re gushing over how great of a time you’re having; “ah it’s nothing” but he’s secretly super self satisfied bc he knows he’s killing it
sometimes he’ll be sprawled out on the couch watching basketball and you’ll be tryna tell him something but he’s so engrossed that he won’t hear a word you say so you gotta throw a pillow at him to get his attention
untangles your necklaces for you; sweeps the hair from the back of your neck and clasps it together once he's got it free
likes leaning on your shoulder when you’re in bed on the computer; not really nosy about what it is that you’re doing whether it’s work or whatever but just likes to listen to the sound of your typing as his own personal asmr; also loves it when you get your nails done like will happily pay for a new set every other week because of the tippity tapping that accompanies everything you do
sets up a joint bank account for you two like immediately bc he doesn't have anything to hide and what's his is yours; but also sets you up a separate savings account that he funnels money into biweekly bc he wants you to be okay always even if one day it has to be without him
if you're both up late and you're feeling peckish he'll whip up a quick late night snack for y'all to munch on
never really comments when your hormones throw your body system out of wack; like if you randomly had night sweats for a couple days and sweat through your clothes and blanket he'd just nudge you awake so you can dry off and turn the ac on
is extra physically affectionate whenever you start getting irritated even if he’s the source of your irritation; will grab your hand and pull you into him planting kisses on top of your head and rubbing up and down your back until you’re sufficiently pacified
hoseok:
all his numeric passcodes are related to you; like it’s either your birthday or your anniversary, the day y’all met, first date, etc.
sometimes he likes to sit on the toilet when you're in the shower and talk to you; will periodically poke his head in to check your progress depending on how long you're in there; ooos and aahs and waggles his eyebrows every time he does so
some people think you’re some kind of dictator bc his response to every proposal he receives is “let me check with my wife first”; you’re not tho he just likes running things by you bc he’s only ever okay if y’all are on the same page; sometimes you really are his scapegoat if he doesn’t wanna do something tho and you’re fine with being his excuse! you love spending time with your man!!
y’all draw lots over who has to kill the bugs in the house; he tries his best to overcome his fear for you he really does but sometimes he look at the bug and the bug look at him and his heart can’t take it; generally tho there’s less fear of y’all conquer it together
at least once a month he books a couples spa day appointment for you two; deep tissue massages, facials, manicures, pedicures, the works like you just get absolutely spoiled; his motto is that if you feel good and look good then you can be good and be good to each other; unrelated but he get a kick out of eating the cucumbers that are supposed to help soothe around your eyes
you get so used to the sound effects he makes all the time that when he’s not around you have to have some kind of background sounds whether it’s music or white noise just something to fill the air.
you both like plushies, funko pops, action figures and all that so there's a dedicated toy room in your home; all the toys that you actually care about are placed higher up and in cases to keep in good condition but things that you don't mind having some use are accessible; the whole room is carpeted and there are some fluffy rugs too; there's a 65 inch tv on one wall and a computer area for gaming as well; the whole room is illuminated via led lights; needless to say all the kids you know love when y'all babysit them; they stay in that one room the entire time except when they want a snack bc there's no eating in the toy room; jungkook also loves to randomly come and hangout in the toy room by himself
wouldn't tolerate any kind of disrespect toward you; say you went out to a restaurant and the server was being rude to you, he'd clock it so fast he'd be talking to a manager having your server swapped out and dessert on the house before you even realized what they said
y'all try new hobbies together; it's never anything you have experience or are good at which makes it even more fun as you're doing it; like you'll get one of those woobles crochet kits and spend like a month trying to figure it out in your free time and make whatever little creature you bought
never actually stops dating you; will still have an active folder with activities and restaurants he wants the both of you to go to; even if you both lack the time and energy to actually go out on a date he's lighting a candle and pulling out the fine china for you it doesn't matter that you're wearing loungewear and sitting on the floor in front of the tv; he wants you to feel special always
jimin:
intimacy between you two go crazy; you’re as close as close can be like if there were such a thing as soulmates you two would be it; you’re consistently trapped within your own bubble and even if you’re out and about it’s still almost as if no one else existed; like say y’all went out to a club music is thumping people are everywhere it’s a generally Loud environment if you softly called his name from beside him he would turn to you immediately; or someone could brush past him and it’d be whatever but if you ghosted your hand up his arm he would get goosebumps; you’re just insanely in tuned to each other
would love if you had a softer build bc he likes the way you feel like heaven when he lays on you; also he just likes squeezing at your squishy bits; he finds it equal parts amusing and satisfying; like he'll squeeze at your boob when you're half asleep in bed just to annoy you; you'll be turned on your side and his arm will be slung across your waist and he'll just inch his hand up until he reaches your boob and squeezes; giggles evilly every time you smack his hand away and won't stop until you're whining and kicking at him to leave you alone and let you sleep
sometimes you’ll build a giant fort in the living room when he’s getting overwhelmed by life complete with fairy lights strung up overhead and pillows and more blankets covering the floor to make it extra comfy; you spend all day together in there playing games and talking nonsense and eating snacks and end the night cuddled up his arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head tucked into his neck watching movies until you’re sure his head is free from all his worries
loves to be fed, literally; like when dinner time comes he will make one big plate and pull up with a fork and a knife and a waiting attitude; if you don't play along immediately he's gonna put his hands over yours and make you feed him bites until you take over; likes to feed you as well; just always sharing his food with you and expects you to do the same
he gets obsessive when you don't answer his calls; like if he knows you're not busy and he calls you and you don't answer it drives him up a wall and he will spam you with texts and at least a dozen more calls until you pick up; not even because he has anything urgent to tell you he just always craves your attention; bonus: ends every conversation by saying i love you like you could be on the phone for 15 seconds just confirming something really quickly and he's gonna make sure he's told you he loves you before you click end call
doesn’t say anything when he finds you crying just pulls you into him and lets you get it all out; once you start calming down a bit he’ll pull back slightly, gently cupping your face in his hands and swipe away all your tears; only when he’s sure the tears have come to a complete stop does he softly ask “what’s going on?”
still gets shy and flustered around you; it doesn’t stop him from being himself around you whatsoever but it’s very obvious when you have the upper hand in a situation
you can't just tell him you need an item from the store bc half the time he'll go and come back with the wrong thing; you gotta send him a picture of it and that don't even work all the time; most of his solo ventures to the store at your request end in him facetimeing you bc he swears up and down they don't have what you asked for but then you end up finding it for him and you not even there
knows you admire his art skills so he leaves little doodles on post it notes around the house; is really proud when you display the ones you find really cute in your phone case
the type to put his life in your hands; when y'all go out to eat he tells you to order for him bc "you know what i like"; will let you dress him/style his hair however bc "you know what looks good on me"; he just literally trusts and defers to your judgement as much as possible
taehyung:
the type to tighten all the jars when you’re upset with him so you’re forced to ask him for help and talk to him anyway
would try to set up a really romantic dinner for you complete with rose petals and candles and champagne on ice but he'd be so focused on creating the right ambience that he forgets to order the food and one thing bout tae is he ain't a chef and even if he was he wouldn't have enough time before you showed up so you'd end up having a pb&j and cup noodles
sometimes if he has a lot of energy but you’re asleep he’ll poke at you until you’re awake and then he’ll ask if you’re asleep and when you say yes he’ll keep messing with you until he’s able to drag you out to play with him
knows how to tie a tie but claims it looks better when you tie it so whenever he wears a suit he gets you to finish off his look; really he just likes to be manhandled by you and the grip you have around his neck does something for him
if you get him riled up in the morning he just lives there all day; partially aware of what's going on around him but undoubtedly distracted, thinking about you, wanting you; hands and eyes are glued to the phone at all times hoping you'll message him or something even if it is just you teasing him some more; he's putty in your hands and he knows it but when the day is over and y'all are both home you're his
you have to come to major compromises when it comes to decorations; like you let him have his accent wall that he puts his paintings of his basquiat-esque faces but the weird cyber bug and person shark statues and the butt chair have to go
you do majority of the cooking so he takes dish duty very seriously; will swat you away if you try to help most times; however there’s a special place in his heart for the times you ignore him and help anyway by drying the dishes and it’s you him and some music playing and you’re singing and dancing around the kitchen together
there's a legitimate argument about your use of a body pillow; he genuinely gets offended bc is he not enough for you? why can't you just cuddle him? why would you go and put the great wall of china in between you two? what's with the distance? was he too much for you? like the situation blows completely out of proportion for no reason skslklsks the argument ends when you force him to cuddle it and he instantly understands the hype behind it; that doesn't curb his jealousy towards the object however and you're only allowed to use it when he's not in bed with you
a whiny baby when he's sick; you'd think he had tuberculosis in the 12th century instead of a common cold the way he be acting; a piece of tissue stuck in his nose, piled under three blankets, shivering every five minutes on cue; you give him a good day of dealing with the dramatics after that you leave him in the room with a bottle of dayquil and a packet of vitamin c until he decides to get on with his life like a normal human being
loves planning weekend getaways for the two of you; like every other month you guys are out of town for like 3-4 days in the spirit of “rekindling”; he always rents a really nice and cozy cabin type joint and most of the trips are spent just enjoying each others company and the scenery, walking around the town latched onto his arm and eating good food; you come back from each outing refreshed and more in love than you already were
jungkook:
every sunday he checks your car to make sure it has a full tank and if it doesn’t he fills it up for you
you two have separate rooms bc you both like to have space to just exist as an individual from time to time (also it’s really nice to have a place to storm away to when you’re in a fight) but you end up cuddled up next to each other every night anyway
has a very strict laundry schedule and routine; gets annoyed if you don't do it how he likes when he's unable to
watches you while you’re getting ready; he’ll be sitting at the edge of the bed while you walk around from your closet to the dressers circling the room trying to find something to wear; you’ll be having a conversation with him the whole time and after you walk past him for the 4th time his clinginess gets the best of him and he catches you by the waist before you can fully bypass him; he pulls you in between his legs and just hugs you to him for a few moments while you run your hands through his hair
follows you around the house with his mic serenading you like three times a week
comes behind you when you’re cooking or washing dishes or something and just pats at your butt for a while and by a while i mean he won’t stop until you elbow him and threaten to cut his hands off; he just laughs and gets one more grope in before backing off
traces the contours of your face and murmurs all kinds of cute and lovely and cheesy stuff about you when you’re both in bed and he thinks you’re sleep
if you made him a good meal you’d hear about it constantly for the next week; like every other sentence is a “seriously, it was so good” and he won’t stop until you make it again; sometimes he’ll try making it himself to see if he could do better but it always tastes best coming from you
an absolute menace in the grocery store; will spend the first 15-20 minutes behaving as he grabs whatever he needs personally and once that's done he's acting a fool; doing that thing that kids do when they use the cart as a skateboard like push off on it and then hop on to ride out the wave; grabbing all kinds of junk that neither of you need; touching everything even when he has no intention of buying it; you have to grab his ear and threaten him with celibacy to get him to calm down
whenever you’re sitting next to each other could be on the couch out at dinner in bed etc he likes to play with your hand and fiddle with your ring; will often slide it off and try to fit the ring on his fingers; then he’ll put it back on and kiss your fingertips for safekeeping
a/n: i worked on this for months and months and now it’s finally here lemme know what u thought 😩🙏
hello , can i request a drabble wherein oc finds out that their husband politician Namjoon is having an affair with his secretary? like, oc found Namjoon was cheating when oc was watching the news and there are photos of the affair and a recorder phone call of the affair wherein the secretary was talking bad about the oc and Namjoon was just chuckling. thank u in advance ❣️
aaaa i'm excited to write this one, thank you for sending it in!
all eyes on you (knj)
pairing: namjoon x reader
genre: angst!! husband!namjoon x wife!reader, mayoral candidate!namjoon x housewife!reader. i imagine namjoon to be older than oc.
warnings: infidelity! oc will be trashed a little ok. you have been warned. the contents of this story quite literally replicate the anon's request. please don't read it if you find the topics offensive and/or unappealing. oh u guys r gonna hate me,,
The living room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the television in the background. You weren't really watching anything in particular--- just letting the flicker of images fill the empty silence around you.
You were perpetually tired.
Your mind wandered, lost in the routine of another evening spent waiting for your husband to return home from wherever he was.
It's not just this though. Namjoon had been distant lately, buried in meetings and late-night phone calls, but you had brushed it off as just part of his life as a politician.
This was the price of being married to a man like him, or so you'd tell yourself.
It was peak campaigning period. Namjoon was running for mayor. So it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to pull all-nighters.
Yet, you couldn't help but stay up for him anyway.
Unintentionally, you switch to a news channel.
Normally, you'd prefer to stay far away from anything to do with politics, as ironic as it sounds with you being married to such an ambitious politician. But, you yearned to feel closer to him, and the news channel his (and sometimes your) name(s) frequented on was the only way for you to satisfy this urge.
You sat on your luxurious yet cold, leather sofa and zoned out, staring into space.
And, oh, what a choice that was.
“Now in. Breaking news on mayoral candidate Mr. Kim Namjoon...”
Just like that, your attention snapped back to the screen when the news anchor mentioned your husband's name. Your heart skipped a beat or two.
In only a second, a thousand thoughts crossed your mind, hundreds of scenarios where he'd hurt himself, or been hurt, maybe his opponent backed out and he was pronounced mayor right this instant, maybe his opponent was hurt, or maybe he was advocating for yet another controversial decision.
Not even close.
What followed wasn’t about a new policy or a political scandal--- it was something way worse.
Photos. Of him. Your husband. Kim Namjoon. With her. His secretary. Bae Joohyun.
They weren’t just working. The pictures showed them at some dinner, leaning in close, laughing in a way that made your stomach churn.
They looked too comfortable, too familiar, as if this was second nature to them.
How cliché.
It felt like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, eager to swallow you up and wipe every trace of your existence.
It felt like time had stopped. The air around you was stagnant. You couldn't hear anything but a high-pitched ringing in your ear; until what the channel displayed next.
The screen transitioned to a recorded phone call.
You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until you heard Joohyun's voice, dripping with smugness.
“I don’t know how she doesn’t see it. Honestly, it’s almost pathetic,” you hear the woman sneer. “She’s too busy playing the good housewife while you’re here with me. I mean, what does she even bring to the table? It's not like you don't have staff handling your home.”
You don't even have time to digest the attack on you because what came next completely shattered you.
Namjoon's laugh.
It wasn’t just a polite chuckle, not something he gave when uncomfortable. It was genuine, full of warmth--- the laugh you used to think was reserved just for you, not against you.
“She’s a bit clueless, isn’t she?” Your husband murmured, amusement clear in his voice.
The remote slipped from your hand and hit the ten thousand dollar carpet with a dull thud.
Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of it, but nothing could explain what you had just seen and heard. All you could think was a mix of 'Namjoon' 'he hates me' 'what went wrong?' 'how could he dare to do this?' 'Joohyun was so nice to me' and 'I want to lie down.'
The man you loved, and cherished, the man you trusted, had betrayed you. And worse, he had laughed at your expense, as if you were nothing more than a convenient joke?
You can't even begin to feel the humiliation of the news being broken to you by TV emission, because your husband's betrayal had struck you so hard, all your thoughts surrounded only him.
Yet another irony; the news of his betrayal was broken to you so publicly, yet you were so, so lonely.
You can feel your cheeks and ears heating. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you don't cry.
Not yet. You don't know why.
Instead, you continue to sit there, numb, as the rest of the world kept spinning around you.
The hours (two hours) blurred together as you sat in silence, staring at the news segment on repeat.
There was no new information. Just the commentators discussing your life. They had managed to dig into your and Namjoon's past. Then his secretary/mistress' as well.
Yeah, she had been promoted to 'Mr. Kim's mistress.'
They discussed, and agreed with Joohyun's take on you being a lousy wife to Namjoon. How Bae Joohyun is a better fit for him. Then another counter argument stating you were 'the perfect, submissive, wife material' for Namjoon.
They went into detail about Namjoon's past relationships, then moved on to scrutinizing every single interaction he had with a woman since your marriage being made public.
Then, they brought on more guest stars on the show to react to your husband's leaked voice recordings.
You felt hollow, with every heartbeat punctuated by that same mocking laugh playing in your head.
All your devices, phones, iPads, landlines, had been vibrating and ringing non-stop. You wonder if any of those are from Namjoon.
It wasn’t until the door clicked open and you heard Namjoon’s familiar, hurried footsteps that you finally snapped out of your daze. He was almost stomping the floor. Following close behind, you hear another unmistakable 'click-clack' of a pair of high heels.
Your husband stormed in, his tie slightly loosened, looking weary from another long day, along with his fucking secretary, who looks equally fatigued.
He tries to talk, “_____."
Instantly, you shoot him down, "Don't even." You stood up with false-fervour. Not wanting to hear from either of the traitors, you turn to rush to one of the guestrooms.
Before you turned, you caught Joohyun rolling her eyes, her lips pursed in annoyance.
The woman looked more irritated at being dragged into this mess than remorseful. That was the last straw.
You don't quite remember what happened next. You were suddenly so fired up. Your brows furrowed, and your tears had clouded your vision.
Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest thing--- your fluffy house slipper, and hurled it straight at the secretary’s head pulling a stupefying gasp out of your husband.
"What the fuck?!"
note: this hurt to write kinda until i made her throw a slipper at joohyuns head :( ofc this is also kinda raw and unedited bec (you know it) lazy.
do you guys want a follow-up?? perhaps a confrontation? you'll have to be vocal abt it if you do... so talk to me u clowns 😡
BTW i love bae joohyun, i just think she'd be a perfect villain for this story. smart, sexy, bitchy, and intimidating.
genre/au: ice hockey au, college au, roommates au / smut, fluff, slow burn
rating: explicit/18+
summary: after last season, namjoon knows he can’t afford anymore mishaps. when you show up on namjoon’s doorstep looking to share his apartment, he thinks it couldn’t be more perfect. medical school has you even busier than he is, but what happens when what used to be the perfect arrangement turns into a bigger distraction than either of you bargained for?
word count: 911 for this teaser
warnings: clumsy Joon, injuries, lots of swearing, Joon gets a boner, OC is pretty and way too nice
a/n: *taps mic* is this thing on? happy Joon day! (i hope i made the deadline). I remembered I had this sitting on the bench (get it lol) as a scene from my wip for the 🏒on ice: for the boys collab that was announced a long time ago! I decided to spruce up this little scene and publish it, even though the final fic is nowhere near complete. This can probably even be read as a standalone (a cute moment between roomies)! I hope you enjoy this piece and happy bday again to Joonie! credits for the banner go to @joheunsaram!
You okay, Namjoon-ah?
Namjoon wants to deck Kim Seokjin and his stupid pretty boy smile into the boards just for asking, when that motherfucker knows he’s at fault for Namjoon’s current state. He feels a painful twinge in his side, sucking in a sharp breath. Practice had barely ended before Namjoon was hobbling out of the arena, the rough-housing that normally accompanied Bangtan’s practice going a little too far today.
When he sees the steps of his building come into view, he nearly wants to sob with relief. Cursing, he stumbles up them, skipping two at a time in the hopes that it’ll get him up and able to faceplant into the couch faster. Knowing his luck though, he’d probably eat his words and end up with his face straight into the ugly grey shag carpet instead.
As he limps down the hallway, he’s struck by dueling aromas – the earthy, nutty mellowness of freshly brewed coffee, and the warm, spicy cinnamon scent of cinnamon. Both coming from his door, propped open slightly, where he can hear the faint lilt of classical music escape.
Anatomy must have been whooping your ass again.
Namjoon takes special care to slip inside quietly, wincing when he puts weight on his knee. He glances down to see that it’s swelled to an alarming size. Fucking Seokjin.
He knew he should have probably gotten it checked out by the team medic. Yoongi’s nagging is already echoing in the back of his mind, reminding Namjoon that if he wanted to be clumsy, he had to stay on top of his injuries. For the sake of his team.
But somehow getting his limbs checked by a crusty old guy who was past the retirement age didn’t seem nearly as exciting when there was you.
You who always wore the comfiest sweats, ones he was half-tempted to steal from your closet. You and your penchant for always looking for a pen, when you always had one tucked behind your ear or in your hoodie pocket. You and your stress baking, winning the adoration of his teammates (Stupid Seokjin and his flirting), but most of all him.
Your damn cinammon rolls were worth every extra minute he had to spend in the weight room keeping them off.
“Hey Joon, I was just finishing up the cinnamon rolls, they’re on the cooling rack— what happened?” Your smile falls when you take him in, knee as red as his jersey, and a nasty cut under his eyebrow, skin turning purplish underneath.
Namjoon thinks he might pass out, either from the pain or from the way your face falls in disappointment, and the plush cushions of the couch seem like a great place to bury his head into right now.
He’s given a few quiet moments to stew before he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. Lifting his head up, he swears when your face nearly collides with his, noses bumping with such force that you have to take a step back, rubbing gingerly at the bridge.
Great fucking impression you’re making on your pretty roommate, Namjoon. She’s totally into getting clocked in the face. The little devil on his shoulder must be having a ball right now.
“Fuck, ___, I’m so sorry, fuck–”
“It’s okay, Joon, I know you didn’t mean to. But we only have the resources for one injured party in this apartment, yeah?”
Namjoon feels his face heat, not sure if he’s just embarrassed or you’re too close close to him. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head when you pick up his knee, studying it with a furrow in your brow.
What a day to decide to wear grey sweatpants. His dick-print was so happy with him right now, and he silently prays that your eyes remain downwards.
“We need to wrap this up. Give me a sec and I’ll help you.”
Is he dreaming, or does your face look a little flushed? If you notice his boner, he’s happy you don’t say anything, humming softly s you disappear into the hallway, rummaging around in the closet for the first-aid kit.
You re-appear moments later, a roll full of medical tape in your hand, and you’re back to prodding at his knee again. Namjoon sinks into the couch, body relaxing at your gentle touch.
Only to jolt a few seconds later when he feels something cold hit his aching joints, nearly whacking you a second time. God, he had to be more careful.
“Shhh,” you put a finger to his lips, and Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat. “Gotta put some ice on it.”
“You should really increase your fees, doc. I’m pretty sure at-home care isn’t included in the job description.”
Is he flirting? Fuck, okay he’s flirting. He’s doing this.
“Maybe I like knowing I’ll always have a patient who keeps me in business,” you wink, fingers lingering longer than necessary on his knee when you finish wrapping it. Your hands move next to the cut underneath his brow.
“Now what are we gonna do with you?”
Oh fuck, abort, abort mission! Namjoon shoots straight up, grimacing at your shocked gasp.
“YouknowIjustrememberedIhaveanassignmentdueatmidnighttoday! I should really go work on that!”
You say nothing as he limps into his room, smiling widely at him the whole time. Namjoon collapses on his bed, groaning into the pillows.
Maybe getting banged up wasn’t so bad after all. Not when he always had you around to patch him up.
a/n pt. 2: As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3
Warnings: Brief blood mention from a cut, mention of minor character death (sickness), fingering, hand job, big dick joon, belly bulge, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, creampie, dirty talk, inconsistent POV
Banner by @sugarwithtea
Beta’d by @yoongiobsessed and Sara (twitter link)
Summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.
Author’s Note: This should have been written months ago. I don’t have an excuse. Oh well, it’s here now!
Part of the Room For Rent collab
There needs to be a word that describes the feeling of being happy for someone while simultaneously going through betrayal.
Namjoon is happy for Yoongi, of course he is, but watching him from across their kitchen table is sending an uncomfortable wave through him. He didn’t expect his oldest and closest friend to run from him, leave him in the dust, just straight up abandon him.
“Oh my God, you’re being dramatic. I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving to Gangnam. It’s just across the river! You and your freakishly thick thighs can bike to my new place in 20 minutes.”
Okay so perhaps he’s being a little dramatic but what else was he supposed to think? He and Yoongi had shared this apartment for years. There had been countless sleepless nights fueled by too much ramen, the living room littered with energy drinks as they bumped heads and helped each other brainstorm ideas for new beats. These walls hold melodies and memories, and he’s just expected to share them with someone else now?
“Plus, I told you you’re welcome to move in with Jin and I. His dad’s some CEO and the apartment is ridiculously lavish. There’s a room with your name on the door if you want it. I’m serious, Jin has this thing with plaques and has a name for every room, it’s honestly worrying. I won’t even tell you what he decided to name the master bedroom.”
Namjoon purses his lips at the thought. That was the main reason behind turning Yoongi’s offer down. He likes Jin and genuinely loves that he brings so much light into Yoongi’s naturally dreary life. Seeing Yoongi’s lips fight against a smile only to burst into the cheesiest, gummy grin while audibly groaning about his boyfriend’s terrible jokes brings a warmth to Namjoon’s chest every time. Yoongi deserves to be happy and he knows Jin is the best person for the job. But he knows full well the couple will christen every room of that apartment and he wants no part of it.
“I know,” he agrees, “But with the proximity to Yongsan park? I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this place.” The open fields just outside the doors of their apartment are the first solace he reaches for when the instrumentals in his brain just keep fighting each other, transforming into the screeching noise of the streets under his window. The trees don’t talk back but letting out his frustrations under the canopy of leaves feels like it helps anyway. “I guess I’ll have to try to pick up some extra freelance contracts to make up for having to pay the rent alone. I hate having to produce meaningless pop but it brings in decent cash when I’m in a tight spot,” he laments.
“Dude, I’m not heartless. I didn’t just decide to move out and leave you stranded. I have a friend from high school. I don’t see her often but she’s a good time and she’s looking to move out of her parents’ place now that she’s done with her degree. It’ll be easier to find work in the city. I’ve mentioned her. Y/N? I go out to dinner with her every couple months to make sure we keep in touch. She’s pretty shy and she’s quiet, you’ll barely notice she’s here.”
There’s a wave of relief that comes with knowing he won’t have to pinch pennies but it quickly turns frigid at the realization that he’ll have to live with a stranger. What if she was a morning person? What if she was a smoker and made the whole apartment fill with the lingering acrid smell? What if she killed his plants?
“I can see your brain working overtime. Breathe, I wouldn’t offer the place to someone I know doesn’t fit your vibe,” Yoongi reassures. I guess there’s not much else to do but wait and see how compatible your living situations are.
Thankfully their own music equipment had been bought separately because they’ve been bickering all day when Yoongi tries to put something in a box from their shared spaces only to have Namjoon object.
“What are you going to do with a wok, Joon? YOU DON’T COOK!”
“Jin has a plethora of different ones in his kitchen and we both know it! Maybe your friend likes to cook, huh? Maybe she’ll want the wok to make meals.”
“Make you meals, you mean?” Okay so maybe he was hoping the new roommate situation came with food because losing both Yoongi and Jin’s cooking overnight was going to hit him hard. He’ll wither away into a string bean at this rate seeing as he’s not allowed near the knives nor the stove.
Yoongi must take pity in the pleading look in his eyes because he puts down the wok with a sigh and passes to the next cupboard. Namjoon is distracted by Jin’s entrance, always loud and boisterous.
“Hey! How is packing going? I just parked the moving van downstairs but I don’t know how long I’m allowed to be there.”
“It’s fine,” Yoongi shouts from across the apartment. “I’d be done already if Joon didn’t try to steal all my shit and force me to leave them here.” He’s zooming past him, bony shoulder purposefully digging into Joon’s bicep.
“I’m monitoring the fair share of roommate assets,” he huffs. “Jin’s apartment has more shit in it than he already needs. You’re leaving me alone with only memories that you once cared for me. The least you could do is not leave with half of what’s in this measly dwelling when your sugar daddy’s got you up in a penthouse.”
They both know the jabs are jokes. Jin has more money than anyone needs, but he’s also a hard worker and spent his youth learning how to take over the business from his father when the time comes. He’d swept Yoongi off his feet with expensive dinners and outrageous gifts when they were first dating, only knowing how to flaunt his money for attention before Yoongi set him straight and taught him that he’d have to put more thought into his courting if he expected him to stick around. Clearly, he did.
Reminiscing about his, nearly ex, roommate almost distracts him enough to miss Yoongi trying to sneak a thin square package into his last remaining box.
“You’re going to take that vinyl out of here over my dead body, Yoongi!” The apartment echoes the lament in surround sound.
They do eventually make it to the van parked downstairs after Yoongi finishes taping up his boxes with only a limited amount of protest from Namjoon.. The air is humid, clothes sticking to Namjoon’s skin as he chases after the wind from Yoongi’s open window like a dog on his first car ride. Jin’s apartment building is a stark opposite from their, his, own. Whereas the outside of his building is all grey concrete walls, Jin’s is all sleek glass of floor-to-ceiling windows causing the brightness of the sun to reflect off and into Namjoon’s eyes as he looks up to the top where his friend will now be living.
The air conditioning of the lobby hits full force, the trio letting out a pleasant hum which quickly turns into a deep groan when they see the elevator boasting an out of order sign. Two pairs of sharp eyes round on Jin, malice dripping from furrowed brows.
“I swear it was working when I left this morning. They must be using all the power to keep each unit’s AC going through the heat wave. The stairs are this way.” He points to a corner of the lobby, tight corridor leading to a single door.
“The stairs? You live in the penthouse, that’s FIFTEEN flights, babe.” Yoongi is quick to point out.
“Are you trusting enough to keep all your music equipment in the van for who knows how long this heat is going to last? I know you’re going to complain about all the moisture in the air messing with your delicate settings.” Namjoon knows he’s got him there. Yoongi would suffer through a natural disaster if it meant keeping his equipment safe and at peak performance.
“You’re right,” Yoongi sighs dejectedly, head thrown backwards. “But I won’t be any help bringing the gear up. You see these legs? They’ll snap like toothpicks if I try to bring them up. Guess Biceps and Shoulders need to do all the heavy lifting.” There’s an airy lilt to his voice when he figures he’s saved himself from the worst bit.
“Doubt they’ll stay that small seeing how many times you’ll be going up and down those stairs to bring up all the light boxes while we deal with the heavy stuff. You’ll have lungs of steel with all that cardio, buddy. I’m sure Jin will appreciate how long he can hold his dick in your throat without you needing to breathe after that.” Namjoon sends him a salacious wink.
Yoongi’s face, which had been a flushed shade of pink from the heat, drains immediately when he realizes the position he’s put himself in but Namjoon doesn’t let him change his mind. He just claps a hand on his shoulder and turns around to get to the van and pick up the first console they’ll need to bring up to Yoongi’s new designated studio space.
Namjoon regrets showing Friends to Jin after today. If he has to hear ‘PIVOT’ one more forsaken time he might choke that windshield wiper laugh right out his friend’s throat. His whole body is aching when he sets his ass down on Jin’s plush couch, finally tasting a bite of heaven after all those steps but it can’t be savored long.
“Get up.” Yoongi’s voice breaks through his needed rest. “The elevator mishap made us take way longer than planned and we’re already late to pick up Y/N.” If anyone sees him fighting back tears that’s none of their business.
The drive out to the suburbs of Seoul is peaceful, the population seems to have holed up inside and away from the sun’s rays. They pull up to a nice two-story home. Namjoon can’t see much into the property since it’s surrounded by tall brick walls, but it’s unnecessary as he can see the silhouette of a young woman waiting outside the gate, piles of boxes at her feet.
They all pour out of the truck, Yoongi darts out first to meet her halfway where she throws herself in his arms. There’s a lot of squealing and Namjoon isn’t sure from who it’s coming out of in the mess of limbs. They separate and approach where he and Jin had waited by the vehicle.
“I’m Y/N, you must be Jin!” There’s a hand out ready to be shaken but it’s presented in front of the wrong man.
“Actually, Jin is this one,” Yoongi corrects, taking your wrist and moving it to the correct person.
“Oh my God, that’s embarrassing. I just figured it was the big one. I’ve heard about your muscle kink enough once you figured out you were into men that I just-- You know what? I’m going to shut up now. Hi, sorry about that. Nice to meet you.” There’s a nervous giggle in between words that’s instantly endearing.
Jin doesn’t seem offended, laughing alongside her. “No worries, he’s plenty satisfied without the beefiness of his teenage crushes.” He wiggles his eyebrows comically which has her chuckling and Yoongi whining.
“This is Namjoon, your new roommate. Joon, this is Y/N.” It’s his turn to shake hands, your fingers so thin and delicate around his much bigger grasp. He takes the time to really take you in, looking down at you; wide grin and smooth skin that spans from your neck down into your… Nope, face!
“You have a nice face.” For a lyricist he sure did have a way with words.
“Thank you?” Your eyes trail to the side where Yoongi stands, eyes deadpan and mouth shut tight.
“He grows on you, I swear. Get in the car, we’ll grab your boxes.” Yoongi says as he passes in front of you with an icy stare towards Namjoon. Okay, so he could have made a better first impression.
You don’t have many boxes which makes sense. The apartment is furnished and Yoongi had left his bedroom set for you since he wouldn’t need it at Jin’s. He remembers leaving his parent’s house with barely anything. It had taken a while for Yoongi and him to make the apartment seem like people actually lived in it. They’d spent far too long eating cup noodles while sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.
Jin takes his place behind the wheel, Yoongi slipping in beside him in the passenger seat. The earlier ride in the backseat wasn’t so bad for Namjoon since he could sit crookedly to fit his long legs behind the couple’s seats in front of him but your presence beside him forces his knees to hit the back of Yoongi’s seat.
“Can you push your seat up a bit? Your little legs don’t need that much space,” Namjoon shoots ahead of him.
“And just for that comment your giant ass and long limbs can suck it up. Respect your elders, brat,” Yoongi snaps back. Maybe he deserved that one.
He sends you a sheepish look and an awkward smile as he spreads open his thighs lewdly. His knee hits yours despite you sticking your legs together demurely, hands politely sitting in your lap. The touch attracts your gaze and Namjoon can track your eyes as they drag up the bare skin of his quad, past the hem where the material of his shorts dig into his thighs, and settles just a little too long where both his legs meet. He can practically feel your stare burning a hole into his groin, a heat expanding through his body.
He doesn’t even realize when he lets out an uneasy cough and you’re quick to look away with a start when you hear it; clearly having been caught in your little perversion. The flush that builds on your cheeks is shameful enough that he doesn’t mention anything more, only locking away the memory of you blushing and embarrassed for later.
Namjoon is thankful that with four pairs of arms there won’t be a need to do multiple trips for your boxes. Jin sends you and Yoongi off with a box each but loads Namjoon’s arms with three; enough to block his view so he has to peek around them to see where he’s going. There might not be many boxes but the ones he’s been given are heavy enough to make his arms shake underneath their weight. He’s absolutely going to blame that on having had to haul all of Yoongi’s belongings during the day and definitely not on the fact he’s weak. He goes to the gym regularly!
“Thanks for helping! Just leave them by the door, I’ll take care of unloading everything,” you call from across the apartment. Yoongi must be giving you a tour of the place.
Namjoon kicks off his shoes and crashes head first into the couch, his big body halfway dropping off of it. All his muscles ache and he’s sticky with sweat. His lids close, reaching for some rest. His stomach rumbles, the memory of breakfast fading. There’s soft footsteps sneaking up on him. He’s trained himself enough to catch Yoongi coming. He’s broken enough things when his roommate suddenly appeared by his side and gave him a spook.
“Don’t think I’m an idiot, Joon. I could see the way you looked at her. I’m only going to say this once, don’t fuck my friend.” His voice is almost sinister as it whispers in his ear. Namjoon’s eyes quickly open wide. He wasn’t looking at you in any sort of way and he was about to defend himself, mouth open with a denial on his tongue. He doesn’t have the chance since you pop around the corner, seeing them both with their heads too close to each other, Yoongi’s glare facing Namjoon’s incredulous look.
“Everything good here?” you ask.
Yoongi’s expression shifts, gummy smile on full display but Namjoon still sees the daggers in his eyes. “Yep, I was just saying bye to Joon. Jin’s already back at the van and we need to get it back to the vendor. Text me if you need anything Y/N. And Joon? Remember what I said.” He and Jin take their leave, surely to start desecrating their new shared space.
“Okay? Is it just me or was he being weird?” You look back at Namjoon but there’s only a shrug of his shoulders as your reply. “Alright, well I’m going to start unpacking then.” You’re just about to turn tail when you can hear the growl coming from Namjoon again. “Ah, you must be hungry, you’ve been going around the city all day. Is there anything already in the kitchen?”
“No, we went through all of it when Yoongi and Jin decided to have a goodbye dinner this week. You get started on unpacking and I’ll run down to the store for some stuff. I think we’re both too tired to do much effort but I can grab ingredients for some decent ramen.” Namjoon slips his shoes back on and running out the door as soon as he finishes speaking.
Luckily, there’s a small family owned market just down the street from the apartment. Mrs. Park is going to be sad to hear that her ‘little dumpling’, as she called Yoongi, won’t be visiting her anymore. She’s mostly used to seeing Namjoon anyway. Yoongi may have been the one cooking but Joon was always the one sent off on errands for any ingredients that were missing midway through the meal preparation.
The bell chimes above him when he walks into the little shop. Mrs. Park doesn’t even look up from her newspaper, head staring firmly into her lap. There’s a low buzz emitting from the artificial lights mixing with the music that’s playing in the shop, something Namjoon doesn’t know, a beat that hasn’t been popular in half a century.
The aisles are familiar and he grabs the ingredients absentmindedly, throwing things in the handheld basket hooked onto the crook of his arm. Green onions from the produce section, a carton of eggs and a hunk of cheese from the dairy section, and spam from the canned goods area.
Mrs. Park finally lifts her eyes from whatever news story that had her attention and gives him a warm smile that reaches her eyes. He should give his grandma a call. A smooth wrinkled hand grabs his groceries one by one, slowly bringing them closer for inspection. Her frail finger punches into the keys of the register.
His eyes wander while his items disappear from the counter and into a bag beneath the surface. The sky has turned a slate grey from an overbearing cloud covering the sun, bringing the vibrance of outside down to a dull.
Against the window is a shelf filled with flowers. Namjoon has often seen people grabbing a bouquet as they wait for their total. He remembers a man with a tie midway undone, suit jacket flapping behind him as he rushed out frantically. A forgotten anniversary he suspected. Just last week, there was a small child tugging at his father’s sleeve, pointing at a particularly bright blossom and requesting to bring it home to his mother. The memory brings a small smile to his lips.
He doesn’t contemplate long before reaching for a lonely white rose in a near empty bucket. He remembers certain symbolism from the time he read The Language of Flowers. Purity, innocence, a new beginning, and reverence. He thinks he catches a mischievous glint in Mrs. Park’s eye as she hands him the bag of groceries in one hand while the rose remains in his other.
The universe allows him only long enough to step out of the shop before the skies open up with a loud clap and water erupts in a downpour. Shock overtakes him and he freezes on the spot as he lets the fat water droplets sink into the fabric of his clothes. The cold immediately seepsinto his skin and settles in his bones, eyes shut tight and mouth open.
The loud rumble of distant thunder urges him to start moving. The plastic of the bag is slippery in his grasp and there’s a stinging pain in his palm from where the rose’s thorns dig in. There’s an uncomfortable squeak from the leather of his sandals with every heavy step he takes. As he sprints the few blocks back to the apartment, the loud slap slap slap of his foot hitting the pavement.
The door of the apartment slams into the wall as Namjoon rushes to get inside, the doorknob undoubtedly leaving a mark from the force at which Namjoon has opened it to throw himself inside.
“Namjoon? Is everything okay?” you call from the living room. “I’m sorry for the mess, I’m trying to fit in my own books across your collection. I don’t want to mess up the system you’ve got going on.”
“Yeah, all good, just wasn’t paying attention,” he reassures.
Your head pops out from the hallway to take inventory of the situation yourself, not quite trusting the waver in his voice. “Oh god, it started raining? I was so in my bubble that I didn’t even notice. You’re soaked! Let me grab you a towel.” You’re off to the bathroom before he can even thank you, already back to exchange the flower still in his grasp for the towel you hand him.
“I hope it didn’t take a beating on my way back over here,” he says, worry tainting the edge of his voice.
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you. Do you know if you have any vases?”
“I’m sure Yoongi’s left some in the kitchen. Jin had a habit of getting him a new bouquet every month. Don’t tell Yoongi I said this but he’d blush every time despite all the grumbling he did about it. Happened every month for two years, like clockwork,” he teases.
“That sounds about right. Yoongi will never admit it but I know how much praise and appreciation means to him. I’m glad Jin gives him that. I’ll go find it.” You’re turning tail and heading into the kitchen in search of the vase.
He pats himself dry enough so that he’s no longer dripping on the floor before he follows you in. You’re in front of an open cabinet, head tilted back to look at the top shelf of it. Your hand is stretched to its capacity, boosted by the tip of your toes, one knee nearly hiking onto the countertop to give yourself enough reach.
He truly only means to help when he sneaks in behind you to grab at the vase. He doesn’t expect to catch you off guard, sending you backwards and off balance with a squeak. His grasp abandons its path towards the top shelf and instead redirects to land on your hips, pinning you against his chest.
You’re taken by surprise at the strong hands grabbing onto your side, a hard wall of muscle at your back, heat radiating from his skin, his wet clothes dampening yours.
“Are you okay?” he asks, breath just a little too close to your ear.
There’s a hitch in your voice when you reply hastily, “Mhm! All good. I’ll let you get that actually. I’m going to change. My clothes are gross from today. You should too, you’re going to catch a chill if you stay in those wet clothes. Your shirt’s so soaked I can see right through it. Not that I was looking! I’ll just- right.”
You’re running off before he can articulate a thought, the door of your room slamming shut behind you. He’s nearly certain he can hear an embarrassed groan through the wall despite that. He does get the vase down and fills it with water, dropping the rose into it before he slips into his room as well.
The rain will be good for the heat in the long run but as it stands it just permeates the apartment with heavy humidity. He grabs a pair of comfortable shorts and a tank top to change into. He passes next to your room on his way to the bathroom. He takes the time to stop and knock at your door.
“Y/N? Do you need to use the bathroom? I’m going to jump in the shower really quick.”
“Go ahead! I’ll take one after dinner.”
His clumsy fingers struggle with the lock behind him, clothes falling onto the floor. The bluetooth speaker that has a permanent residence in the bathroom is turned on, a playlist going at random. He makes sure to adjust the temperature of the water, slightly colder than he usually would. It’s absolutely to combat the heat and definitely not the memory of your body pressed against his in the kitchen; soft under his hands and plump against where his crotch pushed in under the curve of your ass.
Oh god, focus on something else. Listen to the music. The beat is uplifting and he finds himself singing along to the lyrics. A popular song from a girl group member. He recalls Yoongi mentioning he’s worked on something similar.
He lets the tepid water run down his body, hands quick and rough where he scrubs the soap into his skin, not letting them stay in one spot too long to melt into the feeling. Yep, he definitely needs to have it colder. It’s near shivering levels of frigid when he ducks his head under the stream to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.
He’s nearly forgotten about the shape of your body against him, mind preoccupied with the soprano of the singer in his ears. Pop pop, pop, you want it. His body responds as if with muscle memory from seeing this song trend with its choreo everywhere online. His hands take turns pointing at an open hand and back again, fists then popping as if miming fireworks going down a zig zag pattern.
The haunting thoughts of the kitchen eventually disperse enough for him to exit the stream of water and change into the clean, dry clothes. You’re already in the kitchen humming to yourself once he leaves the room followed by a puff of steam.
“Do you need me to help with anything?” he proposes.
“Yeah, that’d be great. Can you slice up the spam and drop the eggs into the water? There’s a pot already boiling.” Put eggs in water and cut up some meat. Sure, he can do that.
The eggs may have cracked a little when he quite literally dropped them into the pot but that’s fine. A little hard boiled never hurt anyone. He swears he’s extra careful when you hand him a knife and let him stand in front of the cutting board. Just going to very daintily hold down the spam and slowly bring the knife down-
“You’re holding it upside down. Sharp edge towards the bottom and make sure you curl your knuckles in so you don’t nick yourself.” Right, of course, he knew the knife was upside down. Just making sure you did, hah.
He manages to make some slightly uneven slices until about halfway through the block but eventually there’s just not enough space for his big sausage fingers to hold on and the knife just slips…right into his palm.
“Ah, shit!” He jumps back, letting the knife clatter to the floor. His uninjured hand keeps the pressure onto the wound as small river of red runs between his fingers. He’s taken by surprise and lets himself be manhandled to the sink before his wounded hand is pushed under the cold, running water.
“I should have figured why Yoongi was so ominously telling me where the first aid kit was in the kitchen. And why he asked how often I cooked at home.” There’s shuffling behind him and a small hand sneaking its way between his body and the sink.
“Take it out, I’ll pat it dry and put a bandage on.” He’s careful to keep his hand stable as your delicate fingers patch him up. A soft pressure with a gauze and a more instant one for the wrap that goes around his palm.
“My friend JK is going to think I took up boxing and ask me to go to the gym with him if he sees this.” He tries to laugh it off, bringing humor into his near amputation.
“I don’t think you need any incentive to go to the gym.” Your eyes are trailing up his arm, stopping at his bicep and following all the way to the middle of his chest. The flex he pushes is completely accidental and was absolutely not to show off the progress he’s been building.
“I take care of myself, I guess.”
“Right.” There’s a small laugh in your voice. “Go take care of yourself, away from the kitchen. I’ll handle the rest.”
He lets himself be shooed out of the hot space, out into the living room where he sees your earlier comment about a mess. There’s books all over the floor in little towers looking for a home on his already overly compacted bookshelf. He picks a few of his bigger tomes to rehouse to his room which allows space for yours to make themselves at home.
He doesn’t notice how long he’s been calculating which books need to be relocated until he hears the clatter of bowls hitting the coffee table behind him.
“I figured we could eat in here today, more casual and all. Thank you for helping me make sense of where to put my stuff. I didn’t want to impose.”
“This is your home too now, you deserve to have space for your things. Yoongi wasn’t much of a reader. Thank you for dinner. I’m afraid you’re going to be in charge of feeding me a lot. I can always just order in but Yoongi was always on my ass for spending money on takeout.” He has the humility to look ashamed at his incapacity to nurture himself.
“No worries, it was kind of implied when he told me to take his spot. I like cooking, so I don’t mind, really. Tell me more about yourself though, I only know what Yoongi’s told me which is pretty much only that you produce music like he does. You’ve got an eye for art from what I can see of the prints on the walls.”
“Ah, actually those are all mine,” he blushes and points to a camera that takes a place on one of the higher shelves. “I like biking around and I figured it was a shame to see all the pretty landscapes without getting to commemorate them properly so I got into photography. I’m not a professional or anything but I enjoy it. I’m actually going to Comic Con this weekend with a group of my friends. They’re cosplaying and they wanted someone around to take pictures of them in costume. JK's actually got a pretty great Spiderman thing going on and it works for him with all the, you know, muscles and spandex.” He’s gesturing a little wildly over his body, as if you’re familiar with Jungkook’s physique.
“I don’t but I can imagine.” Your eyes are following where his hands had gestured over him, gaze roaming over the muscles he’s boasting himself. “You don’t happen to have any spandex hiding in your closet yourself?”
“Nothing like him, riding shorts for when I take particularly long bike rides. I don’t tend to favor it, they really ride up.” His sentence ends in an uncomfortable chuckle and he avoids your view, completely missing how your eyes have started to glaze over.
The small talk fades after that, replaced with the sound of chopsticks hitting the edge of bowls and the occasional slurps. You hold your chopsticks loosely between bites, your phone in your spare hand just mindlessly scrolling.
There’s a familiar tune coming softly from your direction, a low hum of a melody that triggers Namjoon’s receptors. He can place it pretty quickly, pop pop pop uh uh.
His hands take on a mind of their own. He doesn’t stop chewing as his fists go through the movement. Open palm, point, switch, zigzag.
He wouldn’t have even not realized what he was doing if a little giggle hadn’t interrupted the flow of the song. He freezes, eyes widening. It’s a slow pan of his eyes to look into his peripheral, as if not moving his head would somehow render him invisible and able to melt away from the embarrassing situation he’s caught himself in.
You’re doing your best to hold it in, lips nearly completely sucked into your mouth, teeth forcing them closed. He appreciates the effort but he can admit the jig is up. He picks his chopsticks back up with a little cough, gathering his bearings.
“It’s a catchy song,” he defends.
“Oh absolutely, it gets stuck in your head so easily. Even when hearing it off key and through the rush of running water,” you tease.
He pretends to be offended by that. “I’m a producer! I’ll have you know I have great pitch.”
“Of course, someone should tell Nayeon that she’s in the wrong key then. How embarrassing for her to be performing it that way.”
You both dissolve into laughter after that. The silence that follows feels a lot lighter than it previously had been and he breathes a little easier.
“Leave your dishes in the sink, I’ll take care of it in exchange for the cooking labour. I rarely break things anymore. Even if Yoongi won’t let me forget about his favorite mug. I still insist that the shape wasn’t ergonomic and that’s why it slipped out of my hand. He was so mad he refused to drink any coffee that day and knowing Yoongi you know how that was more a punishment for me than it was for himself,” he shares the memory of how grumpy Yoongi had been that day. They must have restarted the same beat half a dozen times. Suffice to say it wasn’t a very productive day and Namjoon owed him a new mug of his choosing.
Your first night together was fruitful. You’ve managed to unpack and meld your belongings with his, have dinner - where he didn’t kill himself in the kitchen - and bond over some banter. You’ve practically ingrained yourself in his life already and Namjoon isn’t sure if that’s good or a little terrifying. He’s not the type to usually feel comfortable with a stranger so quickly. He’s glad Yoongi had you take his place, he doubts it would have been this pleasurable if he had had to place an ad online.
There’s a ghost of a smile stuck on his face when he closes the door to his bedroom. Being alone in his room brings forth the thoughts he’d pushed aside back to the forefront. His computer monitor lights up the space, calling him back. The mixing board on his desk blares a signal he can’t ignore. He has a project to finish and the deadline is knocking at his door incessantly. He sits in his chair with a sigh and slips his headphones over his ears, blocking out the loud patter of raindrops on his window.
He awakes with a start. His back is sore and his skin is damp with sweat. He’s too old to be falling asleep on his desk like this, he’s going to feel it in the morning. The room is pitch black around him. A quick jiggle of the mouse tells him the computer is dead and there’s a hint of panic at the thought of having lost his work. Rationale takes over to remind him that it automatically gets stored on the cloud at consistent intervals. They’ve learned their lesson too many times before implementing that.
There’s an odd irritation at the back of his mind and he realizes the thrum of the AC is missing. Ah, no power. The storm must have knocked it out. His muscles scream from the stretch and there’s more than a few uncomfortable cracks when he gets up and extends his arms above his head. He slips out of his clothes in hopes that more skin in contact with any air might help him cool down. Besides, he always sleeps in his boxers anyway. The air has dried up his throat and he can feel his body begging for water. He grabs the latest water bottle to litter his desk, tips it all the way upside down but not a drop comes.
He hopes he can traverse the apartment to the kitchen silently. Between his heavy footsteps and the stubborn squeaky floorboard outside his bedroom he’s worried about waking you. He sends a silent prayer into the universe that you’re a deep sleeper.
He does hit the floorboard, sending a creek into the night and he freezes for a second but no angry outbursts come from your room to scold him. He’s slowly taking a step in front of the other, carefully moving his weight from one foot to the next, the little smack of his sole hitting the wooden floor melding into the sounds of the rain still pouring outside.
The pressure from the faucet sends the water stream beating onto the metal of the sink and he hopes the curse he lets out fades into the night. He downs two whole glasses before he feels sated and prepares for the slow trek back to his room.
He’s just outside your door when the apartment flashes as lightning touches down in the distance. Namjoon stops moving as the roll of thunder comes quickly behind, nearly covering the strangled gasp from the other side of the door.
“Y/N? Are you okay in there?" The door to Yoongi’s room always had trouble latching since Namjoon drunkenly threw himself into the frame thinking he was heading into his own bed one night.
There’s a small crack where he can press his ear to. He holds his breath, straining to hear above the rattle of the heavy rain against the windows. For a second he believes he must’ve imagined it, or perhaps you’d shifted in your sleep.
He has one foot in the air, prepared to shuffle back to his own room when he hears it again. A choked sob hidden between the pitter patter of drops slamming against the glass.
He’s more insistent this time when he calls your name and pairs it with a soft knock against the wood of your door.
The noise seems to give you a spook because he swears you let out a high pitched ‘EEK’ in your surprise. There’s no additional verbal answer so he takes his chances on turning the knob and poking his head inside.
“Y/N? It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s Namjoon,” he reassures.
He can’t see a thing, the room is pure darkness. The streetlights outside have gone down with the rest of the power grid so he can’t tell if you’re hurt or might need help.
“Joonie?” There’s a soft voice coming from where he knows the bed is, muffled and timid.
“Yeah, can I come in?” he asks.
“Yeah,” comes an answer, meek and nearly whispered.
He hadn’t come into this room since you unpacked so he’s careful to take small, careful steps towards the bed, nearly bent in half with his arms out to feel for any furniture you might have moved into the path. He taps the bed tentatively when he finally reaches it, feeling long limbs under his palm.
He shyly takes his hands off you and makes his way towards the headboard, knees hitting the edge of the mattress as guidance. He reaches out again, expecting to find you but he only feels more blanket covered lumps.
“Are you hiding under the blanket?”
No words come but the hard shape under his palm moves in a nodding motion. He sinks down, kneeling onto the floor a little harder than he expected. Difficult to judge distance in the darkness.
“Can I pull the comforter down? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
The fabric moves under his touch until the feeling of goose down turns into silky hair. He moves his fingers down, grazing your ears until they reach your cheeks, damp and hot against his skin.
“Are you crying? What’s going on? Is moving away from home for the first time getting to you?” It definitely had for him at first. He’d go back to his parents’ house every night to have his mother’s cooking for dinner and only started spending the evenings at the apartment after his younger sister had mocked him about not being able to stay too far from his mother’s comfort.
You let out a shamed whine below him. “No…” He stays silent, waiting to see if you’ll share more. “The thunder woke me up and then I tried to turn on the light but it wouldn’t work. And-”
Lightning interrupts you and as the room flashes in sudden light Namjoon sees your face for an instant. Your eyes are wide, laced with red from the tears but one thing he can tell for sure is that in that second- you’re absolutely terrified.
Your breath gets shaky and there’s a twitch in your hands where he can tell you struggle not to throw the blanket back over your head to escape.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re afraid of the storm, I get it.” His grip on you tightens when he feels you tremble as the thunder rolls behind.
“You can say it. It’s stupid to be scared of storms. I’m just a big weenie.”
“I’d never call you a weenie, Y/N. You know, my friend JK is afraid of microwaves. Runs out of the kitchen and hides across his apartment every time he needs to heat something up. He’s convinced they’re going to blow up and take him with them in the blast.”
You snort, which is followed by a loud slap of skin on skin that he can only assume is you covering your mouth in response to the noise that just escaped. He’s huffing out his own chuckle in response. Adorable.
“Okay, so what are you afraid of then Mr. Tough Guy?” You’re more combative now. He’ll take that over the fearful demeanor you had a minute ago.
“Me? Hmm, I don’t think there’s anything too unusual. I’m not super fond of spiders, I suppose?”
“Spiders? But Yoongi told me you’re obsessed with crabs. They’re basically water spiders. They walk similarly and they’ve even got more legs!” Oh, you’re heated now but you’ve hit him where it hurts.
“How dare you!” The offended gasp he lets out overtakes the drone of rain coming from outside. “Crabs are cute little friends. I have half a mind to walk out and leave you alone in this storm after that.” He fakes getting up but a small hand digs into the flesh of his bicep.
“Don’t! Please. I’m sorry, crabs are adorable, you’re right. I was just kidding. Don’t leave.” He can hear the fear engulfing your voice in your plea.
“No, no, it’s okay. I was just joking. I’ll stay as long as you need.” He didn’t mean to trigger your panic again, especially since he had just gotten you to calm down a bit.
“You might be here a while then, it doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.”
“No worries. Let me just get off my knees. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I spend all night bent like this.” He makes to switch to sitting on the floor but you stop him.
“Do you… uhm, want to lay on the bed? There’s more than enough room for two. I’m not like Rose, that bitch.”
“Are you sure? I can sit here, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You’d known each other barely 12 hours. He didn’t want to appear pushy in your vulnerable state. He’s enough of a gentleman to know to make space for the women in his life to ease themselves into his presence in a manner where they feel safe.
“Don’t worry. Yoongi told me enough about you for me to know you’re the least scary man on this planet. Only way you’d hurt me is if you fell on top of me, which I’ve been warned may happen more than I expect so be careful climbing in.” He feels you scooch over to the other side of the bed, leaving a wide open space for him to settle into.
There’s still some hesitation that weighs heavily in his limbs but when he sees how your body jumps when another bolt touches down and illuminates the room his resistance melts away. His movements are slow as he eases himself onto the mattress.
“Do you have enough space?” you ask.
If he’s being honest he’s certain half his body is teetering off the edge but he’s more concerned about overcrowding you. “I’m fine, don’t worry. You should try to sleep, you had a long day.”
You’re answering with a half hearted mumble and the room is overtaken with the battering of rain on the windows. Namjoon stays alert, hoping to feel your breathing even out to indicate that sleep has claimed you but it never comes.
“Are you still awake?” Your voice is barely a whisper and if he wasn’t specifically keeping an ear out, he would’ve missed it completely.
He turns onto his side, body now settled fully onto the bed with no risk of suddenly tumbling out with a wrong move. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“Can we just talk for a bit? I think that’ll help me calm down.”
“Of course, as long as you don’t insult my little crustacean friends again.”
“Were you one of those kids that would do that shark chant? ‘Fish are friends, not food.’”
“Nah, Pixar and Bruce are wrong for that. Fish are food, crabs are friends.”
“You’ll have to give me a history lesson as to why kiddie Joonie came to that conclusion if Nemo wasn’t the inspiration.” There it is again, Joonie. Namjoon huffs out a little chuckle at hearing it, letting the nickname slip under it.
“Oh,” you gasp. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked before calling you that. Do you not like it? I’ll stick to your name. Or should I be using honorifics, oppa?”
Oh, he’ll have to unpack how his stomach flips with that last part but now isn’t the time for sudden self discoveries.
“No, no! Don’t worry, it’s cute. I just wasn’t expecting it. My friends usually stick to just Joon but you can get special roomie privileges.”
“I fear you’ll one day regret that. I’m going to be so annoying from now on.” He can hear how your words are blanketed in a mischievous teasing, and he believes you but won’t admit defeat that easily.
“You’ll have to give Tae a run for his money. If he pairs up with Jimin then they’re insufferable. Hobi is a saint for having them both under the same roof with him. You don’t know the guys yet but you’ll figure it out soon enough.”
It’s easy to imagine you already melding into his little group of misfits. He thinks back to dinner when you’d teased him about listening to that ‘girly’ song, and he knows he’ll soon be babysitting four wiley dongsaengs instead of three. Sometimes five when Jungkook manages to set Seokjin off. He doesn’t realize the smile that sets itself on his lips and it’s too dark for you to comment on it.
The bed shifts and your voice is suddenly closer, indicating you’d mirrored his movements and were now facing him.
“You talk about them a lot, your friends. Yoongi does too. You must all be really close.”
“We are, like brothers honestly. I have a younger sister but meeting Yoongi was the first time I felt like I had a hyung. He’s not much for declarations of affection but I love that dude.”
“He knows. You guys are all he talks about besides his music. He loves you, too. I can tell.” Namjoon never doubted that but it’s always nice to hear.
“What about you? Do you have any siblings?” It should be an innocent question but the silence that follows feels heavy and loaded.
“I did. My little brother. He was five. He spiked a bad fever one night and had to be rushed to the hospital. My father packed him up in the middle of the night while I slept. My mother woke me up at 4 am in hysterics. We drove to the emergency room and I watched my parents fall to the floor from across the room as the doctor told them he didn’t make it. I couldn’t hear what they said from that far away but it was obvious. I’m haunted by the sounds of the storm that was raging outside as the windows shaked around me. Acute bacterial meningitis.”
“Fuck, Y/N. I’m-”
“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. It doesn’t bring him back, nothing will. I’m just left with distant memories of what his laugh sounded like, and this stupid fear of storms that just reminds me of the day my family broke apart.” Your words are being spit vehemently, your throat clearly closing up as it tries to choke back sobs.
Namjoon’s arms reach out to scoop you into his chest where you lose it in earnest. You hide into the crook of his neck as he can feel your resolve break. Tears hit his skin but he says nothing. There is nothing to say, he knows. You need something to hold onto as you let the emotions run their course and that’s something he can be for you.
It’s not too long before you catch your breath, great big gasps helping your body to settle back into rhythm.
“God, I’m so sorry. Having a breakdown because of some rain, trauma dumping, having a full breakdown. I must be making a great first impression as a new roommate.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re able to let it out. Bottling all that up would cause more damage.”
“Who knew I was shacking up with a therapist. It’s the same thing my counselor told me.” You’re back to teasing and Namjoon lets out the tension in his muscles that he didn’t realize he was holding. Your giggles fade off into a comfortable silence. The rain is still loud against the glass but the trembling that shook yo uhas subsided.
“‘Joonie? Can you hold me until I fall asleep?” Your voice is shy, the request bold for someone you barely know but he agrees without apprehension.
He expects you to burrow back into his chest as you’re already nestled in from your impromptu need for comfort but you surprise him by turning around and slotting yourself against him, back pushing into his front.
“Need to sleep on my left side. You don’t mind, do you?” After your revelation, he’d give you the moon if you asked, some spooning was an easy favor to fulfill.
He simply hums in agreement not entirely trusting himself not to put his foot in his mouth at that moment. He allows you to push back until you’re comfortable and slings his arm over your waist, letting his hand hang limp over your abdomen, careful not to push any unspoken boundaries.
You take it upon yourself to scoop his arm up and hold it close to you. Namjoon closes his fingers into a fist to avoid any accidental groping since his hand now rests on your chest, just above your breasts. He can feel the curve of them against his wrist, the mounds pressing into his forearm.
No! He needs to send his mind elsewhere. He tries to focus on the patter of the drops on the window. Pit pat. Would a roll of thunder fit into any of the songs he’s currently working on? What about the clap where the beat could drop? Anything to distract him from how warm you are beside him. The humidity of the storm only aggravates the heat that seeps through his skin, making it clammy and nearly wet. You, wet against him… NO! The heat is pooling at his crotch, the pressure rising when his blood is sent southward to fill a chub in his boxers. No, stop!
He’s trying desperately to inch his pelvis away from where your ass was resting against him. The universe is truly out for his demise because another round of lightning and thunder sends you jumping, forcefully seeking the hardness of his body against you. The grip on his arm turns vicious, your nails digging into his skin and your rear flies backwards in search of a seat and finds an unexpected obstacle.
Namjoon isn’t sure which sound rings louder. The gasp you let out at your discovery or his moan as his hips involuntarily thrust up against your ass. He doesn’t dare even breathe. What were you thinking? That your new roommate was a giant pervert? That he was taking advantage of the situation when all you asked for was some comfort in a time of need? Would you tell Yoongi? His hyung might be smaller than him but he has no doubt the older man could and would beat his ass into next week for this.
He seems to be the only one spiraling into a panic because instead of screaming and shoving him out of bed you only push back again. Your movements are tentative, slowly adding pressure and grinding your ass in circles against him as if trying to memorize the shape of him against your cheeks.
He slips his arm out of your grasp to bring his hand against your hip, pushing it down to pin you into the mattress and stop the maddening teasing.
“Y/N...” His voice comes out rough in between his teeth, a clear warning.
“Are you-?” You don’t need to finish your sentence with words, opting instead to push against his hold and roll your hips backwards again to feel the length behind you.
“I definitely am now since you can’t lie still. I’m trying to comfort you right now, so I am asking very politely to please have some mercy on me and go to sleep.”
For a second, Namjoon thinks he may have been too harsh.You’re quiet against him and he hopes he hasn’t triggered another round of distress with his tone.
The worries ebb when he feels your hand sneak behind to cup where his dick pushing against the fabric of his underwear. His eyes close when the pressure against the head sends little jolts of electricity flying through his body, a loud moan accompanying them.
“What if this is the comfort I need right now? Will you give it to me?” There’s a confidence in your voice now that had been missing when the sun went down. Namjoon is glad to hear it even if it beckons his doom.
He tries his best not to move, simply letting you tease along his length, your fingers wrapped around his cock through the thin fabric barrier. The drag is dry and nearly painful but he still twitches and wets a patch when your hand comes to squeeze at the head at every stroke.
You seem to take the lack of fighting back on his part as encouragement, and you push at the waistband to finally get under his boxers and meet the feverish skin hiding under them. He helps you reach your goal by shimmying the fabric down and under his balls, freeing his cock to let you handle it as you wish.
Your hand disappears for a second only to come back wet with spit and making the first tug of skin on skin both tortuous and heavenly. He can’t help but meet your fist with a thrust, precum dripping into your hand and easing the next strokes.
You’re showing your impatience when you grab his hand from your hip to aim it towards the waistband of your own underwear. You let him figure out the rest and go back to focus on jerking him off, a little harder this time as your hips roll against thin air.
He doesn’t keep you waiting too long, slipping his hand into your panties, realizing you’ve also opted out of sleeping with bottoms. His fingers plunge low and he’s surprised at how wet you are.
“All this just from rubbing against my dick a little bit?”
“No, I’ve been wet since you pulled me into your arms. Stupid thick biceps and big tits. Figured you’d notice it wasn’t just my eyes that were leaking.” Your words come staccato while your hips desperately try to chase his fingers.
He gives you what you seek and dips his middle finger into your heat. Your muscles contract around him, hot and so wet.
“Fuck, more,” you beg. You’re doing your best to clench around him but there’s not enough to bring relief.
“Impatient.” He wants this to last. He’s barely just gotten his hands on you after all the tension of the day finally snapping. He wants to savor it but you seem to have other plans.
“Namjoon, if you don’t start fingering me properly I’ll kick you out of this bed and do it myself.”
In any other situation he’d probably call that bluff, but he doesn’t want to risk you going through with it. He adds a second finger to your core and gets to work on a punishing rhythm. He uses the angle to his advantage and digs the heel of his palm against your clit to grind onto it with every thrust of his hand.
Your threats devolve into mewls. You’re trying to keep up your own pace against his dick but your grasp is loosening and losing rhythm. Hedoesn’t care. It allows him to focus on making you lose your mind, but you don’t seem to agree with the imbalance because you’re tugging him closer to you, tip bumping into the cotton of your panties. The need overtakes you and you’re ripping his fingers out of your pussy, letting it clench around nothing and mourning the loss. Your legs clamp shut to allow you to reach around and pull the fabric away from your entrance. You push back against his cock, trying to guide him through the darkness.
“In. Want you inside.” Your words aren’t quite begging but Namjoon can hear the plea clearlyin your voice.
“Fuck, Y/N. I should stretch you out more. I don’t think you should take it like this.” He knows he’s above average and he’s unsure that between the darkness and your horny haze you've realized quite what you’re up against in the short span of the mutual masturbation session that’s happened.
“I felt it. I know you’ve got a big dick. I don’t care. Fuck. Me.”
He hesitates to argue with you. He doesn’t want to hurt you but he can feel the warm wet heat enticing the head of his cock and it’s hard to ignore the call. He loses his battle and sinks himself into you. He brings his hand back to your hip and holds himself still as you shake through acclimating to his size.
“Oh god, fuck.” He can feel your pussy tightening around him, the pulses of your walls essentially jerking him off and it’s taking all his resistance not to start rocking his hips up to meet your ass.
“I-” He’s cut off as soon as he tries to start.
“You better not say ‘I told you so’ while you’re inside me or else you’ll never be again.” The possibility of this happening again shut him up pretty quickly.
He opts to try and ease you into the feeling, lets his hand trace along your skin, up to your torso. He peppers kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hand seeks out a breast under your shirt and gently takes it into his palm, massaging the flesh as his fingers tweak at the nipple.
He tries to imagine what it must look like pebbled between his thumb and index; the color of them in contrast to your skin. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to slip it between his teeth and test how hard he could nibble at it before you broke, but the current position makes it impossible and he doesn’t dare switch it now.
Your breathing becomes heavier at every pinch and twist. He can feel your chest heaving under his hand and you’re melting against him. The chokehold your pussy has on his cock also lets up a little, allowing you to rock back and forth seeking more friction.
“I’m ready.” Your voice calls him back. “You can move. Fuck me.” He starts slow and careful, long languid strokes out until only the head stays inside you, and back in with a smooth confident thrust; letting as much of his length fit as he can from this angle.
He lets his hand wander once he feels you matching his strokes, backing up to meet him at each push in. Your skin is damp under his palm and the sticky feeling would usually bother him, but he’s too enthralled by the little noises that you make with each movement.
Your hand chases after his, following where he cups at your breast, pinches at your nipple, and he notes the hitch in your breath when his large palm settles loosely at the base of your throat. He’ll have to file that one away for another day.
You eventually seem to grow frustrated with his teasing touches because you drag his hand back south and into your underwear. He spreads his fingers around where the two of you are joined. He can feel your arousal coat his cock and your pussy stretch around him, sucking him in at every stroke.
He brings his fingers up to finally give your neglected clit the attention it’s been craving. You can feel how it’s throbbing with desire. You don’t bother trying to suppress the moan that comes out in nearly a scream when Namjoon presses against your bundle of nerves with skillful pressure and maddening circles.
It’s still slow. Everything is infuriatingly slow but you can’t find your voice through the groans and gasps to ask for more, so you let him set his torturous pace and drown in the electricity coursing through your body.
You take up the mantle that he’d been forced to leave behind. You feel too good to ask to change positions but you mourn the lack of his other hand which is forced under him, unable to wreck the same havoc on your body as its twin. Your right hand travels to your torso, attempting to mimic his earlier teasing while your left holds onto his wrist between your legs to keep yourself grounded.
You melt into his touch, head lolling into the pillow. Namjoon takes advantage of your neck opening up. He finally gets to use his right arm to push his upper body enough to dip his head down where your shoulder meets your neck to attach his lips to your skin. The added feeling of his teeth biting down, paired with a hard suck and lick of his tongue sends you reeling. You push back harder, urging him to thrust in rougher, as deep as the position allows.
“So big, Joonie. Can feel you so deep.” You’re pushing his buttons and it works. You’re riling him up and he lets it happen. You sacrifice the feeling of his fingers on your clit to bring them up just above your pubic bone and push down hard making the head of his dick hit against the front of your walls. You know he can feel it push against his hand every time he hits home.
You know when he registered what’s happening because he’s pistoning into you with renewed vigor, each thrust stronger than the one before. The new pressure from his hand makes everything feel euphoric.
“Shit, Y/N. So fucking tight around me. You feel so good, sweetheart.” The praise falls from his lips without thought and the endearment slips through with ease but there’s no time to focus on it. You’re clenching around him, being brought to the edge.
Your hand replaces where his had been, fingers wild and frantic on your clit, pushing you towards your orgasm. It doesn’t take long to hit and your body goes rigid in his arms. Your muscles scream as they twitch and the wave radiates out from your core and washes over you to the tips of your limbs.
The shaking in your body subsides but the throes of pleasure still buzz under your skin from where Namjoon hasn’t slowed. He continues to push and pull his way into your body, keeping the tension alive.
“You sound so fucking hot when you cum. Feel so perfect around my cock.” No words come in reply to his, only mindless moans answer the praise. You want to tell him how good he feels inside you too, how you still need him so desperately.
“More!” You manage to gulp through the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “Want to feel you deeper.”
His hips stutter in response, your words hit him in the pit of his stomach. He wants to give you more, whatever you want but he can’t go any further from this angle.
“Gonna have to move us around for that, okay?” His voice is muffled from where his mouth is still dug into the crook of your neck, breath heavy near your ear.
You’re nodding without giving it much thought. Whatever he wants, he can do anything he wants. You’d agree to anything if it meant getting more of the addictive feeling coursing through your veins.
His cock slips out of you and you barely have the time to whine at the loss that a yelp escapes you instead as you’re hauled up and around to land firmly on his lap, underwear being ripped away in the switch, Namjoon now spread beneath you. Your hands fly forward to balance yourself, knees planted on either side of his hips.
“Holy hell, I was kidding earlier with the tits comment but…” You let your hands finish the implication as they grab at the flesh of his chest, nails digging into his skin. “Can you flex for a second?”
His muscles tense under your touch and you can’t help the groan that slips out in response. His chest is rock hard now and you feel your body rise with the strength imbued in it. You let your hands drift downwards, nails dragging behind. You wonder if the marks will still be there tomorrow for you to see the damage you're leaving in the light of day.
You can feel each bump on his abdomen where the muscles bulge out and dip back in. You’re surprised to feel the smooth velvet tip of his cock hit your hand so quickly. You’re barely halfway down his abs and the realization of how big Namjoon actually is sinks in.
The previous position wouldn’t have had him remotely close to fully sheathed inside you. The anticipation of really feeling his entire length has you grinding down and sliding along him, trapping him between his stomach and your sopping folds.
He bucks up to meet the pressure, hands holding firm on your waist, following the pace you’ve set. He lets you roll on him, his sensitive head catching on your clit and every loop which elicits moans from both of you.
He’s sure he could cum from this alone, but he’s aching to feel you sink down on him entirely. There’s a desperate plea on the tip of his tongue, an encouragement for you to lead him back inside but he keeps quiet. He wants you to make the decision and go at the pace you need. Despite the shift in situation, Namjoon still feels the vulnerability you’re under.
His hand drifts up, letting fire spread along your skin. The electricity in the air isn’t only from the storm anymore. He’s gentle as he cups your breast, content when he can feel your chest arching forward to chase after the pressure of his touch. Your nipple pebbles despite the hot and humid air.
“Perfect,” he murmurs under his breath. He’s sure it’s low enough to stay a private confession but the low moans mixed with your thighs tightening against his hips reveal otherwise.
The praise urges you on, reigniting your movements. Namjoon almost fears you’re moving away, off from your seat on top of him. His hands are quick to reach back for yours; a silent imploration to stay but they’re unnecessary. The pressure on his chest where you anchor yourself grounds him. There’s a shake where your balance falters so you can reach beneath you and grab at his cock, holding it straight towards your core.
The darkness hadn’t bothered Namjoon until this moment. He’ll rue this day for his entire life for stealing the vision of your expression as you slowly sink down on his entire length for the first time. The whimpers that escape, as you take each inch further, are only teases compared to the satisfied groan that comes once you’re fully settled back in his lap. The entire situation is torture. The heat of the stifling summer night is nothing compared to the scorching embrace of your walls around him. There’s aftershocks of your muscles spazzing around him that pair with more moans while you acclimate to the feeling of him inside you.
Namjoon’s mouth is dry and his brain is empty. There’s a strong instinct to move, a twitch in his arms to use his strength to lift you up enough to have you slam back down but he resists.
He can hear your breathing even out, big gulps of air diminishing to a more normal rhythm. You’re fidgeting, torso lowering to come parallel to his until your breath hits his throat. He doesn’t even realize your hand had snaked away until it lands in his hair and you pull on the strands to allow your lips to stroke at the cartilage of his ear, a warm tickle accompanying your words.
“You’re so big, Joonie. Feel so full.” He knows it’s the sign he was waiting for when you end the compliment with a strong squeeze that he can feel through his entire body. All the restraint he had exhibited snaps.
It all happens at once. He reaches for a fistful of your hair to keep you still as he clumsily seeks for your lips with his own. The kiss is aggressive and too full of teeth clanking together at first. It eventually melts into something more salacious. Your lips are hot and slippery but Namjoon is aiming for more.
You’re too distracted to notice that his stance has changed. He jostles you as he plants his feet into your mattress to give him the best angle to properly pound into you. The first hard thrust is paired with a well timed bite of your lip which has you opening your mouth with a shout of pleasure. He takes advantage of the position to delve his tongue into a battle with yours, turning the dirty kiss into an even wetter mess.
Neither of you can hear the storm over the slaps of skin, low groans, and high whines from inside the room. “You hear how wet this pussy is for me? Sound so fucking pretty, bet it looks even better. We’ll have to do this again, right? So I can see you leaking over my cock properly.”
If you’re answering him it’s unintelligible in the mumbles melted into the moans that continue to spill out of you. He’s taking it as an agreement from the tightening of your core around him.
His legs eventually lower behind you, pushing you to straighten back up and work to keep up the faltering rhythm. The heat and late hour seeps into your bones but the exhaustion that lies at the edge of your consciousness is no match for the fire in your veins that feeds the lust inside you. Your hands reach behind you and grab onto meaty thighs. God, you’ll need to talk about those in the morning because you don’t have the energy to trigger another round tonight. Your head falls, back arching towards the sky. It gives Namjoon the opportunity to roam your body, soft strokes and harsh grasps.
“Come on, Joonie. What good are those big biceps for if you can’t fuck me harder?” The taunt works like magic to reinvigorate him. Large hands come back to your waist, palms digging hard into your body above your hip bones. His thumbs aim towards your core, pushing into the softness above your pelvis. It’s not as obvious as the first position on your side but he can definitely feel the shift under your skin where the pressure of his thrusting cock pushes against his fingers.
“Shit, Y/N, never felt pussy this good. My perfect girl. Are you close? Can you cum for me, baby?”
“Y-yeah, so close- fuck. You feel so good.” It wasn’t a lie, you’ve teetered on the edge for a while but you just needed a little extra push. Namjoon’s hold on you is strong enough to allow you to sneak a hand to where the two of you are joined. There’s only a flash of pleasure before your fingers are slapped away.
“Nuh uh, my job. If you want to be touched a certain way just ask for it. You’re a big girl, use your words.”
If he kept talking to you like that maybe you wouldn’t need the extra help after all but that’s an experiment for another day. “Please, Joonie, want to cum. Touch me.”
He dares to slow the pace, still upkeep the long hard strokes that hit deep inside you. “Is that the best you can do? You’re about to cum all over my cock and I’m still just Joonie? You’re not being very clear, you know. I’ve got my hands on you, I’m already touching. Be more precise. What do you want, princess?”
He’ll be the death of you, you can already tell you’ve set yourself up. Your words are coming out in choked sobs, your climax on the brink. “Please!” you exclaim, “Namjoon, please play with my clit and make me cum all over your big cock.”
He didn’t expect you to take the bait so strongly, but you asked so politely, who would he be to deny your request.
“Good girl. I’ll give you anything you ask for if you do it like that. Look all innocent but you’re just a desperate little thing, aren’t you?” His words are paired with increased speed. He pistons into you with such force that you swear you’re floating above him. The world falls away when his thumb finally comes to rub tantalizing circles around your nub, the movement a little clumsy form how wet it is between your thighs.
It doesn’t take much to reach elation. White light explodes behind your eyes making you believe the power may have returned for a second. There’s electricity living in your nerves that travel down your limbs. There’s a rawness in your throat you assume was birthed from the scream that still echoes around the room.
You catch your breath on a pile of loose limbs draped over your new roommate’s huge frame. Your muscles are spasming from the outside in. You can tell that Namjoon definitely feel it from how tense his muscles feel under your fingers. You purposefully constrict around him and the answering grunt confirms your suspicions.
It takes a second to gather enough strength to sit back up while keeping him snuggly inside you. You wish you could look into his eyes as you roll your hips over him. You know it’s not as stimulating as the hard thrusts from earlier but the sweet sounds you hear from under you seem to have him perfectly content.
“Fuck, you never stop surprising me but you really need to get off because I can’t last anymore.” There’s a tension in his tone, one that you’d hear from someone holding onto a loosening grip that could result in falling to their doom.
You let the nail from your index dig into his skin and leave a burning sensation behind as your scratch down the valley of his pecs, from his clavicle to his abdominals. “Good. Then my plan is working. Your turn to cum for me.”
“Oh, I will. The second you get off me, it’s torture to keep it in, so please-” It’s his turn to beg but you’re not as ready to give in to his demand this time around. You only double your efforts, rolling hips and tight squeezes.
“Go on, then. You wanted me to ask for what I want? Cum. I’m safe and I want you to cum inside me, Namjoon.”
There’s black magic in the way you say his name, it’s hypnotizing. Or maybe it’s the imaginary visual of what you’d look like splayed out with his cum seeping out of you that does it.
He brings his fingers back to your sensitive clit and the pressure is almost too much. You nearly beg him to give you a break but he interrupts you before you can start. “One more time, with me. If you want me to fill up that sweet pussy, you’ll have to milk it out of me.”
You can’t tell whether it’s the pressure on your clit or the dirty words from his mouth, but the wave of pleasure comes back with a mighty force and crashes through you again. You can feel your core tightening around him in spasms which triggers his own release. You can feel his cock spurting inside you, an extra layer of warmth seeping into you. You can’t hold yourself anymore and flop onto Namjoon, both of your breaths heavy and labored.
His hand strokes comfort onto your back. You don’t even mind how sweaty you both are, sticking to each other. “We should get cleaned up,” he suggests.
You dig your face into the crook of his neck in protest. “No. Tomorrow. Don’t want to move. You still feel good, don’t want you to pull out.” You purposefully twitch to make your point. His cock may be softening but it’s still firmly plugging you up. You both know you’ll regret it in the morning but you couldn’t care right now.
The exhaustion you both feel settles into contentment as sleep pulls you in. You both fall asleep without even noticing that the storm has also fallen into slumber.
Okay, so maybe Namjoon was a little dramatic about being abandoned because it’s only a week later when Yoongi is back in his old apartment from a weekend brunch date with his friends.
You and Jin are bonding in the kitchen. Yoongi can hear his boyfriend’s windshield wiper laugh mixed with your giggles that he’s always compared to a hyena. He expected the atmosphere to be a little awkward when he came in, both of the new roommates a little shy and fond of individual activities.
But when he let himself in earlier he found both his friends sharing the couch in the living room, each with a book in hand,which wasn’t surprising, but your feet perched on Namjoon’s lap, that was a little surprising.
He had let that slide easily enough. His suspicion returns simply from how much smiling Namjoon has been doing. Smiles wouldn’t be odd for most but Yoongi has heard that man’s music lately and he’s the definition of a Sad Boi™.
The pieces fall into place when you bring in the plates and there’s lingering. From your fingers on Namjoon’s when you exchange the dish to his eyes on your ass when you turn away. Yoongi stares Namjoon down, deadpan. His friend’s eyes widen in panic once he realizes he’s been caught. Yoongi’s always been able to read him like a book.
“You motherfucker,” Yoongi spats at him just as you reenter the room.
“Now now, Yoongles. Do we need to call Dr. Lee to go through your mommy issues again? We’ve already established I’m not your mother.” You take a seat on Namjoon’s lap as if to make a point. “Besides, there’s only one person that gets to call me mommy now.” The look you and Namjoon share might be the final drop that makes him go dig for his old psych’s number that night.
⟶ Everyone told you to be careful with dealing with him, that nothing good can come from getting involved with Namjoon, and you knew that, but you just couldn’t help but keep coming back like an ant to a syrupy dessert. Now here you were, stuck in his web of lies. Will you stay and let his darkness consume you, or will you break him free from his pain?
✮⋆˙ pairings: kim namjoom x female reader, eunwoo x female reader
✮⋆˙ word count: 3,200+
✮⋆˙ warnings + tags: substance use, profanity, p in v, mentions of toxic relationships, namjoon is a fuck boy and a d!ck in the beginning, lots of making out, situationship woes, love triangle, infatuated!oc, badboy!namjoon, conflicting emotions, love triangle, jealous namjoon, oral pleasure (m! recieving), dom! namjoon, shy!oc, power imbalance, angry sex, mirror sex, shower sex, sex against the wall, sleepy sex
✮⋆˙ notes: hi!! To celebrate my success in snagging two tickets to the world tour, I decided to create this series. I just want to preface that Namjoon in this is meant to be written as a complex character; he isn't, by any means, either good or bad, and he's not, by any means, abusive. He's just a man who has seen his world shatter way more times than any person should, and instead of getting help, he relied on toxic defense mechanisms. He would follow the archetype of 'hurt people hurt people.'
Poisonous Touch is a story about having to face the hard truths that make you feel like your soul is being pulled out of your chest cavity, it's about learning and growing from those dark parts of yourself that you try covering up and ignoring. At its core, it is truly about the right person, wrong time.
Mornings at Yonsei University were something out of a romance drama; it was easy to envision yourself as the main character with the attention of all the boys on campus. Unfortunately, this isn't a drama, and no guys at Yonsei University were fawning over me, at least none that mattered.
As I made my way across campus, trying my best to hurry since I had forgotten to bring a thicker jacket, I was greeted by brisk air kissing my cheeks, as the sun, with little effort, tried to warm my chill-soaked skin.
Many students were also making their way to classes like me, but were not in a big hurry like I was; they were walking at a pace of spirits, moving slowly, making no haste to reach their destinations quickly.
I made a mental note to myself to always make sure to check the weather before leaving my apartment, as I felt the kisses from the air switch to that of nips across my flesh.
I suddenly felt myself being pulled back, as if I were being yanked away by a sentient tree branch, which made me make an unattractive squawk.
"Haven't you heard of keeping your hands to yourself?" I asked, irritated slightly as I turned my head towards whoever pulled me back.
I was greeted with the image of Jimin trying his best to seem innocent, as if he didn't give me minor whiplash.
"That wasn't nice, Jimin! I'm freezing out here." I whined as I tried to continue onwards, but was again yanked backwards by his grip on the back of my shirt.
"Well, it's not my fault you came to school with a light cardigan, dumbie." He chastised playfully as he handed me a jacket, most likely one of his.
When I placed the jacket over my thin cardigan, I was greeted with Jimin's signature scent, Jo Malone's Orange Blossom. This scent will always make me feel at ease; it's extremely grounding, since Jimin has been wearing it since we were freshmen when we met.
"Thank you, Jiminie," I said warmly as I pulled the jacket closer to my body as we walked together towards our destinations. Jimin was headed to a class that focused on Cultural Management & Industry Studies, while I was taking a workshop on Performing Arts.
"How is everyone handling the new school year?" I asked as we passed a few of your classmates, waving briefly before continuing on.
"Don't you mean, how is Namjoon handling the new school year?" Jimin threw back at me, his words dripping in lightheartedness.
"Not just him, I want to know how everyone is faring!" I exclaimed, my voice wavering slightly as I chewed on my plump bottom lip anxiously.
"Well, I'm doing great this year, thanks for asking." Jimin said with a smirk before continuing with, "I really don't know why you're so infatuated with Namjoon."
"I'm not infatuated with Namjoon, I'm just being nice since you're friends with him," I explained with a sigh escaping as I ran my fingers through my hair.
"Yeah, he's my friend, and trust me, you don't wanna get roped into his games," He warned as his eyes transformed into pools of worry.
"Look, I would love to continue this conversation, but I gotta head to class, but don't worry, I'm a smart girl," I said with a warm smile as we went our separate ways.
As I made my way to the workshop, I couldn't help but stray to my deep mind. I went back to my conversation with Jimin. I understood where he was coming from, but it still hurt me to think he wasn't confident in my willpower, as if I would just fold to every command Namjoon threw my way.
I shook my head to free myself from the shackles of my overthinking. As I walked into the room, I noticed I was still pretty early, I came ten minutes earlier than necessary.
I made my way to the U-shaped table in the middle of the room. There was only one other person in the room, and he was peacefully snoozing; he honestly reminded me of Kook in that way.
I chose to sit two spaces away from him to avoid invading his personal space, and in my attempt to silently pull out my chair, I managed to make it scrape so loudly it echoed off the room's walls.
I could hear the stranger shift in his seat. I figured it would be polite to apologize for waking him rudely.
As I turn to apologize, my tongue dries up in my mouth and I can't help but stare. I am coming face-to-face with God's greatest creation; he looks as though he were crafted with the highest quality of marble. His eyes were rich shades of brown, like two cups of coffee, and he had angular, sharp cheekbones with a slim, tall nose resting in the center of his face.
After I realized I had been ogling at this man for a good chunk of time, I felt my face heat up as I lowered my face slightly to hide my red cheeks and said, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't trying to disturb you."
I picked my face back up slightly as I heard his soft chuckles and just in time to witness his warm smile.
"It's no harm, honestly, that is on me for choosing to nap in a classroom. I'm Eunwoo, by the way." He said as he reached his hand over, to which I took it into my own and shook it. His grip was warm and firm with just the right amount of pressure.
"I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you," I replied sincerely as I released his hand.
"It's still kind of early for class. Why'd you come so early?" Eunwoo asked as he stretched a bit in his seat.
"One of my friends was teasing me," I say as I take a seat closer to Eunwoo.
Which made Eunwoo laugh, and we spent the rest of the time before class started getting to know each other. I learned quite a bit about him, like his favorite color is blue and that he loves playing guitar and piano.
As other students started to make their way into the workshop, our conversation died down a bit, but our eyes still met. It was honestly hard to break the intense eye contact.
"Welcome to the only class that I expect you to fail. If you fail, that is fantastic! My name is Professor Kwon, and this is where things become uncomfortable." Our professor bellows out as he moves around the classroom, eyes scanning all over the room as if he were commanding our attention to be on him.
The silence that follows his introduction is deafening.
"Today, we will be doing an exercise on intimacy training, so go ahead and partner up with your neighbor and get your scenes from me afterwards." He announces as he walks past Euwoo and me.
Eunwoo and I look back at one another, our eyes in a sensual tango.
"Looks like we'll be partnering up then," he responds with a smile.
"Looks like it, just don't make me look like a fool and we'll get along." I joke as I reciprocate his smile.
"I would never make you look like a fool. Let me go get our scene, though." He says as he gets out of his seat before heading towards the front.
"I can't believe she got paired up with Eunwoo," I heard one of the girls whisper loudly. I think her name is Joy. I don't really know her —she's pretty dramatic, but kind, and I guess really likes Eunwoo.
Nothing really came from their whispers, but they seemed to vanish completely when Eunwoo returned. Though they were replaced by puppy-dog stares directed at my scene partner.
When he returned, he slid the scene card towards me as he took his seat.
"Hopefully, you're a fan of Romeo and Juliet," he said teasingly with a lopsided grin that added a boyish charm to his appearance.
"Would you be surprised if I told you I have never seen any piece of Romeo and Juliet media?" I asked as I read the scene card.
"For some reason that doesn't surprise me, you seem like the kind of person to be skeptical of romance," he said as he leaned his face against the palm of his hand, a smile curving onto his face.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked as I twisted my head in his direction, furrowing my brows slightly.
Suddenly, Eunwoo moved his chair closer to my own and leaned closer to my body. I could feel his hot breath against my earlobe as he said, "I'd love to see what's behind that skeptical look of yours."
I could feel my face warm up under his gaze as the sound of my accelerating heartbeat was pounding in my ears. My gaze shifted from his eyes, which were like two orbs of molten chocolate, down to his lips, which looked plump as his tongue flicked outward to slide across the surface.
As I brought my eyes back towards his smoldering gaze, I realized I'd been caught like a child found with their hand in a cookie jar.
"See something you like?" He questioned with a smirk that showed off his dimples.
"I'm just enjoying the view. Is there something wrong with that?" I question as I play with a long strand of my hair.
Eunwoo just chucked as his lips curved upwards into a soft smile before saying, "Nothing wrong with that. In fact, if you keep this up, we'll ace this intimacy training exercise."
At the mention of the exercise, I am brought back to reality. I can't believe I let this flirtatious number take over my mind. It was as if my mind was attempting to bottle up Eunwoo's intoxicating energy as if to save it for a rainy day.
"So, how do you think we should do this scene?" I asked, trying to play it cool, as if my heart wasn't still hammering.
"I have a few ideas." He said, turning his attention to the scene card.
"So, this scene is one of the more iconic love confessions — it was truly revolutionary during its time." He explained, his gaze shifting between the scene card and me.
"So, I've heard, but what made it so revolutionary?"
"It shifted the focus from familial authority to individualized desire. It redefined romantic love in literature, putting more emphasis on mutual pining, passion, and immediate commitment." He said as he reached over and played with a strand of my hair, keeping eye contact with me. It was as if everyone else in this room just vanished.
"Okay, now that everyone has had a chance to read over their scene cards. We'll have a few people perform for us. Any volunteers?" Our professor announced from the front of the class, looking around for volunteers.
A good handful of people raised their arms eagerly. I recognized some of the ones picked. So far, Professor Kwon had picked Joy and her partner, Yerin, Yeosang and his partner, Jiyoon.
Honestly, I respected their bravery. I would've volunteered, but I wasn't super confident in my delivery of the scene card we received.
"Thank you for volunteering, Eunwoo and Y/N."
As I turned to Eunwoo, I could see him there with his hand raised and a cocky grin painted across his face.
The real cherry on top was the way he looked at me with such innocence, as if he hadn't just signed away my dignity.
"Don't forget to breathe. We wouldn't want you passing out." He whispered softly.
I blew out a breath as we watched the first two performances. Yeosang and Jiyoon did a comedic scene from the film Step Brothers, playing Dale and Alice. Before their scene, they touch on consent and boundaries since it featured over-the-top, humorous behavior, high energy, and constant physical contact.
Next, we watched Joy and Yemin perform a scene from Booksmart, in which they played Hope and Amy. Before their scene, they did the same thing Yeosang and Jiyoon did. Their scene touched on a kissing scene at a party; there was tension and nervous energy, as well as room for exploration, before initiating physical contact.
And now it was our turn to perform. As we walked up to the front of class, I could feel all eyes on Eunwoo and me as he reached downward to put my hand in his.
His hand was warm like sun-soaked sand on a beach.
"Just start whenever you both are ready." Professor Kwon said as he rested his head atop his hands.
I let my eyes scan over the entire room before letting them fall back into Eunwoo's gaze. It was as if he were soothing my soul with just a single like, as if he were telling me it would all be fine.
"Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say aye, and I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear'st thou mayst prove false." I say as I caress his face with my hands, bringing him closer to my eye level.
"Gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully."
"By yonder blessed moon I vow, that tips of silver that all the fruit tree tops." Euwoo starts to say before I press my finger to his lips to silence him, endearingly.
"Swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon? That monthly changes in her circled orb, lest thest that thy love prove likewise variable." I say as I attempt to put some distance between us, as I run my fingers through my hair.
"What shall I swear by?" He questions as his eyes stare into my own as if they are sharing years' worth of love confessions in that small moment.
"Do not swear at all. Although I joy in thee, I've no joy in this contract tonight. It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one cay it lightens." I say as I attempt to leave the space filled with Eunwoo's explosive energy.
"Sweet, good night," I say as I go to retreat, but I am stopped by Eunwoo's hand gripping my own in desperation.
"Wil thou leave me so unsatisfied?" He questions, sounded almost desperate for more of my attention.
"What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?" I question as I smile toward him in a look of admiration.
"The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine." He says as he rubs his thumb across the top of my hand.
"I gave thee mine, before thou didst request it. And yet I would it were to give again." I say as I move close towards Eunwoo, staring at him as if he were the only man in my life.
"Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love? He asks as he cups my face and caresses his thumb across my cheek.
"But to be frank and give it to thee again. And yet, I wish but for the thing I have." I say as I lean my face closer to his, our lips mere meters apart.
"My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep, the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite," I say against his lips softly while I gaze into his eyes. Everything is quiet — it's like we are the only two in this room.
A knocking sound is the only thing that has us breaking away from each other. It turns out to be Professor Kwon, the nurse, knocking on Juliet's door from the scene card.
"Wow, that was fantastic, baby! What a perfect example of chemistry. I could taste the desire just coming off of you both." Professor Kwon exclaimed ecstatically, clapping his hands, and the class joined soon after.
After thanking Professor Kwon for his kind words, the bell went off, signaling that the first class had ended.
"Alright, everyone, amazing performances, and starting tomorrow, the rest of the class will be taking turns performing." He said as he dismissed us to prepare for his next class.
As Eunwoo and I headed back to our seats to grab our stuff, I went ahead and poked him lightly on the side before saying, "I can't believe you volunteered us. I was so nervous."
"You had no reason to be, I knew you would do amazing." He said, bumping his hip against mine, the contact sent a shock of electricity down my spine.
"You say that like you've seen me perform before," I say jokingly as we make it to our stuff.
"I have, I was with Jungkook when you did A Midsummer Night's Dream with the Seoul Shakespeare Company." He told me as we received our items, then made our way towards the door.
"I'm surprised Kook never told me," I say honestly, feeling shocked that I was kept out of the loop.
"I begged him not to, I wanted to make a good first impression on my terms," he said, looking down at me with warmth cascading from his gaze.
"Well, you definitely made an impression," I said as I smiled at him as we exited the classroom.
"I'm glad to hear that. Where's your next class?" He asks as we walk down the hall aimlessly, as if passing the time by.
"I have a dance class next," I answer, surely this man won't walk me to my class.
"Oh, that's perfect, I can walk you, my class is in the same area as yours," Eunwoo chirped as he grabbed my hand and walked us towards the proper area for our classes.
On the way there, I noticed a few familiar faces like Jungkook leaning against a locker with the biggest grin, staring straight at us with Jimin alongside him with a facial expression I have never seen in my life. He looks like he was witnessing a dog breakdance in a church.
I knew I would definitely get hounded by Jimin either in Dance or at lunch — there would be no escaping his wrath.
Just as we were about to make a turn into a hallway, we passed by two people I just couldn't ignore. Against the wall nearby were Namjoon and Hyuna. It seems they were in a deep conversation, a sensual one at that, based on Namjoon's body language. He had Hyuna up against the wall, keeping her closed in with his hands on both sides of her face.
I knew it shouldn't bother me, but I couldn't stop the jealousy from tightening around my stomach. Namjoon was fear to flirt with whomever he wanted to, same went for me.
As we entered the hallway that led us to the Dance sector of the Performing Arts building, I tightened my hold on Eunwoo's hand.
"Everything okay back there?" He asked as he squeezed my hand twice, as if trying to calm my nerves.
"I'm just nervous, that's all," I said, which wasn't a lie because I honestly was nervous.
When we finally arrived at my class, Eunwoo raised my hand towards his lips and pressed a soft kiss on top of my hand.
"I know you're not just nervous about dance class. Something upset you, but I won't push you on it, though," he said as he caressed my cheek lightly.
"I'll see you later, Juliet. I'm gonna give you this, though, in case you need anything," he said as he handed me a folded-up piece of paper.
